


Lucky Break

by BenAddictViolaBatch



Series: Lucky Break [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock Roulette, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slash, Slow Burn, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 30,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5566024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenAddictViolaBatch/pseuds/BenAddictViolaBatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medieval AU. Sherlock injures himself while on the run from his brother. John finds him and insists on caring for him.</p>
<p>Alternating POV. Sherlock's POV for odd-numbered chapters. John's POV for even-numbered chapters.</p>
<p>Dialogue is modern.</p>
<p>New chapters daily until complete. (26 chapters plus epilogue.)</p>
<p>Cover art here:</p>
<p></p><div class="tumblr-post">
  <p>
    <a href="http://benaddictviolabatch.tumblr.com/post/138002327095/cover-art-for-my-ao3-fic">http://benaddictviolabatch.tumblr.com/post/138002327095/cover-art-for-my-ao3-fic</a>
  </p>
</div>My Tumblr:<p>http://benaddictviolabatch.tumblr.com/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock ducked under a branch, his pack shifting against his back as he stood back up. Moonlight sparkled on the stream below. He made his way down and refilled his water skin. He picked his way across the stream by stepping on the higher rocks. Determined to put as many miles as possible between himself and his wretched brother's lackeys before dawn, he climbed the steep bank quickly. He braced his foot on a rock protruding from the side of the bank and hoisted himself farther up the hill. The rock gave way and fell.

Sherlock fell with the rock, tumbling down toward the stream. He landed on the rocky stream bed in a heap. His left leg folded under his body with the impact, his shin taking the worst part of the hit. There was a sickening crack as his shin was caught between a large rock and the weight of his body. Pain exploded through him and he couldn't contain a yelp before clapping his hand over his mouth in a desperate attempt to be quiet. Sherlock screwed his eyes shut and whimpered into his hand. He put his other hand out and pushed himself over, falling flat on the ground to take his weight off his leg. His whimpers turned into a litany of curses, still muffled by his hand. When he had exhausted his supply of curses in eight languages, Sherlock fell back to whimpering.

He lay still for several minutes before propping himself up on his elbow and looking at his left leg. He needed to take his boot off to gauge the severity of the damage. Sherlock pushed himself up to a sitting position. The pain surged with his movements and he cursed into his hand again for several minutes. He was going to need both hands for this. He took one of his thick leather gloves off and put it between his teeth.

Sherlock pushed his right leg outward and took hold of his left boot. He pulled his foot closer to his body. He took a deep breath before pulling his boot off. His teeth dug into the leather glove as he suppressed a scream. Sherlock gingerly rolled his stocking down and stared at his leg in the moonlight, panting around his glove. The skin was unbroken, but turning livid shades of red and purple. His leg was becoming more swollen with each passing minute. Sherlock was not going to be able to put his boot back on anytime soon. He rolled his stocking back up and dropped the glove out of his mouth.

Despair flooded through him as he realized his chance at making it it aboard the ship to Athens had just evaporated. He buried his face in the crook of his arm. He needed to _think_. There must be a way forward. Going back was not an option. He would rather die than spend another day under Mycroft's thumb.

Sherlock lifted his head. His first priority should be hiding himself as well as possible until he could form a new escape plan. He was way too exposed on the stream bed. Even Mycroft's dimwitted thugs could find him there. Sherlock looked around. He spotted a hollow in the hill with a large tree on one side of it. It was his best chance of staying out of sight until he could come up with a new plan.

Sherlock put his boot into the top of his pack, and put the glove back between his teeth. He began to shove himself backward toward the hollow. He stopped to sweep his cloak over the rocky bank to camouflage his drag marks. He slowly made his way to the base of the hill below the hollow, stopping frequently to disguise his path. Tears streamed down his face. His teeth were clenched around his glove. He was trembling from shock, exertion, and pain.

Sherlock pushed himself up the hill toward the hollow. The ground was much less rocky there, and he began pulling dry leaves down over his tracks.

He finally dropped into the hollow. The glove fell from his mouth as he buried his face in in his hands for several minutes. He took a deep breath, slid his pack off his shoulders, and pulled the boot out of it. Sherlock took his vielle case out of his pack and pulled his other glove off. He opened the case and checked the instrument for damage. _Thank God_. It was knocked out of tune but unharmed. Sherlock sighed in relief. He quietly tuned and repacked the vielle. He tucked his pack into the side of the hollow and put the boot next to it. He put his gloves back on.

Sherlock tucked himself under a tree root and made himself as inconspicuous as he could. He draped his drab brown cloak over his body and scattered dry leaves over the cloak before pulling his arms beneath the cloak. He took his hunting knife from his belt. All he could do now was wait. And _think_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A vielle is a medieval stringed instrument similar to a violin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John sensed it as he reached the crest of the hill. He stilled, listening, but he heard nothing out of the ordinary. He drew an arrow and readied his bow. He crept forward slowly and looked out from behind a tree. The pale predawn light glowed on the stream below.

Any other observer would not have known anything had been disturbed. But John knew these woods like the back of his hand. He took in every detail he could from his position atop the hill.

The rocky stream bed had been disturbed. John studied the disruption and determined that something had taken a fall down the bank. Something large. _As large as a man_. He must have been injured in the fall because he had then dragged himself into the trees. He'd done an exceptional job of covering the evidence. He could have stayed hidden from almost anyone. Anyone except John Watson.

John walked down the hill silently, his bow ready but lowered. He approached the hollow where the stranger was hidden from behind its sheltering tree. He readied himself to circle around and get a look at the intruder.

"That's close enough."

John flinched when he heard the baritone voice. This man's instincts must rival his own. No one should have been able to sense his approach.

"Come around where I can see you."

John hesitated for only a moment before slowly approaching the front of the hollow. His arm tightened his bowstring but he kept the bow lowered.

He peered into the hollow. The dim light shone on the blade of a hunting knife. John was expecting the knife, but his breath caught as he was transfixed by the most startlingly beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen, blazing from beneath the hood of the stranger's cloak.

The man held up a gold coin. "Take it. Forget what you've seen and move on."

John smirked. He shook his head. "I won't be bought that easily."

The stranger rolled his eyes. He held up two gold coins. "Take the gold and go."

"No. This is my home. I won't have intruders skulking about."

The man sighed. "Who are you?"

"I rather think _I_ should be asking _you_ that question."

"I'm no one. I'll be gone soon enough." He held the coins out. "Just take the gold and tell no one you saw anything."

"I don't think so. You're injured. I won't have you dying out here. I'll take you back to my house and patch you up. Then you can be on your way."

The stranger scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to _die_. And I'll be gone as soon as possible." His eyes burned into John's. "Now _take the gold_ and _leave_." He tossed the coins on the ground and disappeared into his cloak.

"I don't think you're in a position to make demands. You're coming with me. Let me see your leg so I can know what we're dealing with."

The man's voice was muffled under his cloak. "Why should I show you anything?"

"Because I was a medic when I was a soldier. I can help you."

"Why would you want to?"

"I don't know. Because I'm a human being? Just let me see your damned leg."

The man sighed heavily. "Fine." He swept his hood back. Dark curls fell over his brow. His face was ashen with pain. He pushed the cloak aside, scattering the leaves. The man's left boot was off. His lower leg was clearly swollen.

"Thank you. I'm John Watson. What's your name?"

The stranger sighed again. "Henry."

"All right, Henry, I'm going to put down my bow and you're going to put away your knife so I can help you."

Henry rolled his eyes again, but he sheathed his knife, tucking it back into his belt. John set his bow on the ground and knelt down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock watched John kneel in front of him. John extended his hands but paused to look into Sherlock's eyes again. Sherlock had never seen such deep blue eyes. "May I?" he asked. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, crossed his arms, and looked away.

John gently rolled Sherlock's stocking down. Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed, wincing as John prodded at his leg. "I'm sorry. I know it hurts. I'm checking the bone to see how badly damaged it is."

John finished and sat back on his heels. "You're lucky, Henry."

" _Lucky_!" Sherlock spat out. John ignored him.

"Your tibia - your shinbone - is cracked, but it didn't break in two. I don't have to set it. Believe me, you wouldn't have enjoyed having it set. And you haven't broken the skin, so you don't have to worry about a nasty infection taking the leg. You should be fine in a few months."

" _Months_!" Sherlock hissed. "I don't have _months_! I need to get as far from here as possible."

"Why?"

" _Never mind_."

"Well, be that as it may, right now you're coming to my house." John stood and extended his hand. "Let me have your pack. I'll carry it."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "No. I'll carry it myself."

"You're going to have to start trusting me, you know. If I'd wanted to rob or hurt you, I'd have done it already."

Sherlock didn't want to admit it, but John was right. He had no choice but to trust him. Sherlock glared at John for a moment. John just looked back at him, waiting. His hand was still out.

Sherlock sighed heavily. He put his boot into the top of his pack and pushed it forward. John pulled it closer to himself. He put his arrow in his quiver. Then he picked up the gold coins Sherlock had tossed to the ground and tucked them into Sherlock's pack. He put the pack on his back, then shouldered his bow. He reached his hand out to Sherlock again. "Up you get."

Sherlock reluctantly took John's hand and allowed him to pull him upright. He stood with his weight fully on his right leg. He stifled a cry of pain.

John's right arm slid around Sherlock's waist and pinned him tightly to John's right side. John felt solid and warm. Strong. Sherlock felt a surge of heat rush through his body. "Put your arm around my shoulders." Sherlock did, his hand landing on John's left shoulder. He leaned on John. John winced and inhaled sharply. Sherlock yanked his arm back quickly. He stared at John with wide eyes.

John gave him a rueful smile and said, "Maybe not. I took an arrow through that shoulder two years ago. Try looping your arm around my neck and grabbing your other hand. That should keep your weight off my shoulder."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, no, just leave me here. I'll be fi-"

"Shut your mouth, Henry."

Sherlock was shocked into silence. He wasn't used to people talking to him like that. But then, John didn't know who he was.

"Now loop your arm around my neck and grab your other hand."

Sherlock stared at John for a moment. Then he did as John said.

"Put your weight on me."

Sherlock hesitated.

"I don't want to stand here all day."

Sherlock eased his weight onto John.

"Good. Now let's try taking a step."

Sherlock hopped his right leg forward a few inches. He kept his left leg pulled up off the ground.

"Good. I'm going to lead you back to my house now."

"How far is it?"

"Just on the next hill." John smiled at Sherlock. "I told you you were lucky."

Sherlock huffed out a breath. He hopped forward again. It took a few minutes to coordinate their movements, but soon they began making steady progress up the hill.

"So, Henry, who are you running from?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

"I'm taking you into my home. I think I deserve to know who might come looking for you."

Sherlock sighed. "I'm a musician. The Lord I was employed by caught me with his wife."

John snickered.

Sherlock glared at him before continuing. "I outran him. And I outran his men. I circled back while they were searching the woods so I could retrieve my vielle and my pack. I may have 'liberated' some of the Lord's gold while I was at it."

John stifled a laugh.

"What about you, John? Why are you out here in the middle of the woods?"

"I live here."

"So you've said. But why do you live in such a remote place?"

John was quiet for a few moments. "It took a long time to recover from my injury. After I was healed enough to be on my own, I wanted the solitude. I may eventually move back to the village, find a wife. But I'm happy here for now."

They walked in silence over the hill. The sun was coming up, its light revealing the scattered colours of early spring amid the grey and brown left by winter. John's house was a small, neatly kept wooden structure with a thatched roof. There was a well on one side and a woodpile on the other. John opened the door. "Let's get you into the bed, Henry. I'll sleep on the floor while you're here."

"No, John, I'm not putting you out of your bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

John scoffed. "As if I'd put a prince on the floor."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John felt Prince Sherlock tense up against him.

 _"What did you say?_ "

"I'm not stupid. I know who you are."

The prince glared at John. "And just who do you think I am?"

"You're the one the King is looking for. The runaway prince. I've just come back from visiting the village to sell furs and buy supplies. Everyone in the village was buzzing with the story." John grinned. "You're all anyone talks about."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just a musician. I'm certainly not a _prince_!"

John led the prince to his bed. He pulled the fur coverlet back. "Sit down. Your Royal Highness."

The prince scowled at him. " _Stop that_. My name is Henry." He sat down on the bed.

John hung his bow on its hook. He took the pack off his back and set it next to the bed. He hung his quiver up next to his bow before turning to look at the prince. "I told you. I'm not stupid. Just look at you. Look at your boots, for God's sake! I've never seen such a fine pair of boots."

"I stole these from the Lord I'm running from!"

"And they just happened to fit you perfectly? Stop it, Prince Sherlock. I know it's you." John crossed his arms and stared sternly at the prince.

The prince stared right back. Then he let out an exasperated sigh. He dropped his head into his hands. "I had to fall into the path of the only man in a hundred mile radius who _isn't_ an idiot!"

"I told you before. You're lucky." John laughed. He could see that the prince was struggling not to laugh with him. He nudged the prince's shoulder with his fist. The young man gave up and laughed. He lifted his head and looked into John's eyes. John was struck again by how beautiful and unusual the prince's eyes were. They seemed to change colour with the light.

John blinked and looked down at the prince's feet. "Let's get that lovely boot off so we can get you into the bed, Your Royal Highness."

The prince sighed. "I told you to stop that. _Please_. Call me Sherlock."

"You sure? I don't want to wind up in the stocks, you know."

Sherlock glared at him. "Yes, I'm _sure_."

John put his hands up in surrender. "All right... Sherlock." John bent down and pulled Sherlock's right boot off. "You should probably change into something more comfortable. Do you have a nightshirt in your pack?"

"Yes."

John moved the pack closer to Sherlock. Sherlock pulled his left boot out and set it next to the right. He dug through the pack and pulled out his nightshirt. He looked up at John.

John realized he'd been staring. "I, uh, I can step out and let you change. Um, unless you need help, of course. Do you... need help?"

"I'll be fine. And you don't have to leave. You can turn your back if you're concerned for my modesty." Sherlock looked amused.

"All right, I'll... I'll get you some food. You must be hungry."

"A little."

"I've got some rabbit stew if you'd like."

"Thank you."

Sherlock untied his cloak and pushed it off his shoulders. He looked up. John realized he'd been staring _again_. "Right then. I'll, uh, just get the stew."

Sherlock grinned at him. John turned around before he could make a bigger fool of himself. He took his cloak off and hung it up. He could hear Sherlock moving around, undressing.

John busied himself with stoking the fire in the hearth back to life. He hung the pot of rabbit stew he'd made the night before above the fire to warm. All the while, he willed himself not to notice the beautiful young man undressing behind him. He thought to himself: _Keep it together, Watson. He's injured. He's scared. He's vulnerable. And he's a prince. Stop staring at him. Stop flirting with him. Stop... thinking about him. Just... stop._

He stared into the stew until it was warm. Sherlock had stopped moving around behind him.

John put some stew in a bowl and finally turned around. Sherlock was in John's bed, propped up against the wall with his legs under the coverlet. His clothes were folded on top of his pack. John gave him the stew.

Sherlock smiled at him. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome." John picked up the small table he kept next to his chair and set it by the bed. He got a mug of ale and set it on the table for Sherlock. Then he cut a piece of bread and gave it to him.

"Thank you, John. Are you going to eat?"

John shook his head. "I'm fine. I ate before I went out this morning."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "I've interrupted your work. You were hunting this morning?"

"Yes. But it'll keep until tomorrow. I'm going to stay close to the house today. You should sleep. I'm guessing you didn't have a restful night last night."

Sherlock smirked. "You could say that. I'll admit that I am tired. But don't let me keep you from your work."

"There's plenty for me to do here today. You need to sleep. That leg won't heal if you don't rest."

"Thank you." Sherlock smiled at him again.

John caught himself smiling back, looking into Sherlock's eyes. He broke eye contact and started putting things away. He deliberately stayed busy until Sherlock finished eating.

As John took the bowl back, his fingers brushed against Sherlock's. He felt a jolt of electricity rush through his body. Sherlock was looking up at him with that amused expression again. John quickly cleaned the bowl and put it away. He put his cloak on and turned to Sherlock.

"I'm going to do some chores, cut some firewood. Sleep as long as you want. I'll be right outside if you need me."

"All right. Thank you, John."

"Least I can do for my prince."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in a mock glare before breaking into a smile.

John couldn't help smiling back. He turned and went outside. He closed the door firmly behind him. _Keep it together, Watson._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock was left alone in the small house. He was very tired and still in a great deal of pain. He carefully pushed himself down the bed until he could lie flat. God, his leg was killing him. He looked around. John's home suited him. Sherlock was surrounded by John's simple, functional furnishings. But a closer look revealed an appreciation for beauty. There was a small ceramic vase on the mantel with a pattern of violets painted on it. It held a single flowering dogwood branch. Sherlock could hear John moving around outside. The bed smelled like him. Sherlock took a deep breath, his eyes closing.

Everything faded as Sherlock fell into a deep sleep. When he stirred, he could see by the quality of the light that it was after midday. He heard the rhythm of John's axe splitting firewood. After several minutes, the sound of the axe stopped. John's footsteps approached the door. John hesitated, then opened the door as quietly as possible and peered around it.

Sherlock called out quietly to him. "I'm awake."

John came around the door. His cloak was draped over his arm. He must have gotten hot with the exertion of cutting the firewood. His fawn-coloured hair was damp with perspiration at his temples. Sherlock felt a rush of heat through his body at the sight of him.

"I hope I didn't wake you," John said sheepishly.

"No, not at all."

"I came in for a bit of dinner. Are you hungry?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, not yet. I wouldn't mind a bit more of that ale, though, if you've got it."

"Of course."

Sherlock carefully pushed himself back upright against the wall again.  
John hung up his cloak before refilling Sherlock's mug. As he handed the mug to Sherlock, Sherlock could smell John's fresh sweat. Sherlock's eyes fell closed for a moment.

John got himself some stew and bread and sat at the kitchen table to eat. Sherlock watched him.

Sherlock had never known anyone quite like John. He had seemed like a simple man at first, but the longer Sherlock observed him, the more fascinating he became. There was such strength in him, and he was clearly intelligent. He was handsome and pleasant to talk to. Why hadn't he married and had a family? Why had he hidden himself in this remote place? Sherlock found that he wanted to know _everything_ about John Watson.

A wave of guilt crashed over Sherlock. John was in danger because of him. He never should have let John help him. If John Watson came to harm because of Sherlock...

John turned to Sherlock. "I'd like to show you something after dinner if you're up to it. I have a hidden cellar in the back. If the King's men come this way looking for you, we'll hide you there."

Sherlock looked down at his hands. "John, I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you for your kindness. I'll give you all the gold I have, of course, but if you're caught helping me, they'll... hurt you. Possibly kill you. I'm putting you in danger. I never should have allowed you to bring me here. I'll leave tonight before -"

John's hand was on his shoulder. He'd leapt up from the table while Sherlock was talking. " _That's enough of that_." Startled, Sherlock looked up at John with wide eyes. "I'm helping you because I want to. You're not going anywhere until you've got your strength back. And _I don't want your gold_." John leaned down. He had both hands on Sherlock's shoulders now. His remarkably blue eyes burned into Sherlock's. "Like it or not, you need help right now. I won't let you go back out there injured and alone." Sherlock stared back, stunned into silence.

John blinked. He pulled his hands off of Sherlock like he'd been burned. He staggered back a step. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't have put my hands on you like that! I'm sor-"

Sherlock grabbed John's wrist. "No! I'm the one who should be sorry. I've already caused you too much trouble. I'll be on my way as soon as the sun goes down."

John shook his head vehemently. "You're in no condition to travel, especially alone."

"I can't ask you to put yourself in danger by helping me."

"You're not asking. I'm insisting. I'm sorry to overstep my place like this, but you're not going anywhere, Prince Sherlock."

" _I'm not a prince anymore_."

"All right. Look, just let me show you the cellar. We'll see how it goes."

Sherlock sighed. "All right." He let John's wrist go. "Please, finish your dinner."

John smiled at him before sitting back down.

When John had finished eating and washing up, he grinned at Sherlock. "I've got something for you outside. I'll just go get it."

Before Sherlock could respond, he was out the door. When he came back in he was holding something under his arm. Sherlock realized with a sudden shock that that John had made crutches for him. They looked simple, but strong. John had clearly spent a significant amount of time rounding and smoothing out the underarm supports to make them more comfortable. Sherlock was overwhelmed.

"I just need to check if I got the height right. We need to get you mobile as soon as possible. It's too dangerous to have you laid up." John was still grinning at him.

"John, I don't know what to say..."

"Then don't say anything. Let me check the height and you can try them out by coming to see the cellar. You may need to get to it quickly."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John was surprised by how shocked Sherlock seemed to be that John had made crutches for him. How was it that he seemed so unused to people doing things for him? Don't princes have things done for them constantly? There was so much he didn't know about Sherlock.

Sherlock pushed the coverlet off and slowly turned himself so that his legs came down off John's bed. He was still in his nightshirt, but he had left his stockings on for warmth. John handed him his right boot. Sherlock put it on, then picked up his cloak and put it over his shoulders. John laid the crutches on the bed next to Sherlock and went to put his own cloak on. Sherlock finished tying his cloak and looked up at John.

John put his hands out. Sherlock took them. John helped him stand up slowly on his right foot. Sherlock moved his left hand onto John's shoulder. (John noticed that Sherlock made sure it was the right shoulder. John tried _not_ to notice how it felt to have Sherlock's hand on him.) He picked up a crutch and held it up to Sherlock's right side. "Looks like I got pretty close with the height. What do you think?"

Sherlock put his arm over the crutch and leaned on it. He grinned at John. "Perfect."

John felt his cheeks flush a little. He put the other crutch at Sherlock's left side.

Sherlock leaned onto both crutches. "They're perfect, John. _Thank you_."

John's cheeks were hot. "Do you need them taller? Shorter? Please tell me and I'll adjust the height for you."

"They're perfect. Really. So, where's this cellar?"

John stepped back. "Come on, then."

Sherlock took a tentative step. John stayed close in case he had trouble staying steady on the new crutches. They haltingly made their way out the door.

As John led Sherlock slowly to the back of the house, he worried a little about how his home must look to a prince's eyes. He had worked hard on his home and would have been proud to show it to almost anyone, but he thought it must look primitive to someone used to a castle.

They passed the woodpile and the sawhorses at the back of the house. John picked up his toolbox so he could put it securely away in the cellar. "I try to approach it a little bit differently each time so I don't wear a path to it."

"Smart," Sherlock said. John ducked his head, smiling sheepishly.

"You can stop here. We're almost on top of it." John took another step forward and crouched down. He pushed the leaves aside to expose a wooden hatch. He pulled it open to reveal a stairway. "You don't have to go in. I just wanted you to know how to find it quickly."

Sherlock came forward and bent to look into the cellar at John's supplies.

"I'm just going to pop in and put my toolbox away. I'll be right back." John quickly placed his toolbox on its shelf and grabbed his stack of flour sacks. He jogged up the steps to rejoin Sherlock. Sherlock was still peering intently into the cellar.

John gestured down the stairway a bit awkwardly. "There's not much in there right now, as we're just coming out of winter. It's not exactly fit for royalty, but if you need to get out of sight it'll do."

"It's wonderful."

John was taken aback. "Please don't tease. This place isn't much, but it's all I have."

Sherlock looked stricken. "I wouldn't tease you like that." He put his hand out and grabbed John's sleeve. "I'm serious. It's wonderful. Your home. Everything has a purpose. There's no wasted space. Nothing frivolous. It's _beautiful_."

John gaped at him. "Beautiful - but - how can you possibly think that when you lived in a castle?"

Sherlock tugged on John's sleeve. "That castle was cold and hard." Sherlock's voice became earnest. "Your home is like you. Warm. Welcoming. Solid. Efficient. It's _lovely_."

John blushed more and more as Sherlock spoke. He was speechless.

They stood in silence for a moment, Sherlock still clutching at John's sleeve.

John finally found his voice. "Thank you, Sherlock." He paused again. "I suppose I should get you back inside." He closed the cellar hatch and recovered it with leaves. He began leading Sherlock back to the house by another route.

"Did you build all this yourself, John?"

"No, I needed help to put up the walls and dig the well and cellar. I traded work with my friend Mike. He has a farm near the village. I worked on his farm for several weeks in exchange for his help building this place. I did the furnishings myself, though. Kept me busy for a while."

"I should say so. It's truly remarkable."

John's cheeks flushed again. They had reached the door. John let Sherlock in and barred the door behind them. He dropped his flour sacks next to his chair and helped Sherlock take off his cloak and sit on the bed.

"We should keep your things packed in case you need to hide. We'll need to hide them with you. I'd have a hard time explaining where I got a vielle, and gold, and the other fine things you probably have in there."

Sherlock looked down sheepishly. "Of course." Sherlock squeezed his clothes and his left boot into the top of his pack. He folded his cloak and placed it on top.

John crouched down and pulled Sherlock's right boot off. He set it down next to the pack. "Do you want to sleep again, or would you like to sit up?"

"I think I'll lie down, although I fear you'll find me lazy."

"Of course not. You've been on the run and had a traumatic injury." John gave him a reassuring smile and lifted the fur coverlet so Sherlock could slowly turn his body and put his legs under it. He put his hand on Sherlock's back to steady him so he could lower his upper body back down into the bed.

John could feel Sherlock's body heat through the nightshirt. He could feel the muscles in the young man's back tightening and shifting as he lowered his body into John's bed. John's breath hitched. He pulled the coverlet up to Sherlock's chest. Sherlock's gorgeous eyes burned into his. John quickly averted his eyes and stumbled back a step. _Keep it together, Watson_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

John's hand was warm and strong, supporting Sherlock's back as he lowered himself down into John's bed. Sherlock heard John's breath hitch. Sherlock stopped breathing altogether. He looked up at John's face. _If it weren't for this damned broken leg, I could have backed you up against a wall by now_.

John pulled the coverlet up. His deep blue eyes met Sherlock's. Sherlock could see the heat in his eyes for just a moment before John broke eye contact and quickly moved away. Sherlock tried to breathe normally. His leg was throbbing.

John's voice was tight. "I'll be doing some baking this afternoon. I'll keep as quiet as possible so you can rest."

"All right."

Sherlock watched John stoke the fire and prepare a rye loaf. John put the loaf by the fire to bake. He began preparing flat bread as well. Sherlock's eyelids grew heavy. He soon dropped off to sleep.

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, it was dark outside. The only light in the small house came from the fireplace. The house smelled incredible. John had placed the rye loaf on the kitchen table. He was putting flat bread into a small bag. Sherlock looked into the fireplace and saw two potatoes roasting. The pot of rabbit stew was hanging above the flames. _The vase was gone from the mantel_.

As Sherlock watched, John put the bag of flatbread into a pack which clearly already had several items inside. Sherlock quickly closed his eyes when John lifted the pack. He listened as John placed the pack under the foot of the bed. Sherlock kept his eyes closed for several minutes.

He opened his eyes when he heard John pulling the potatoes out of the fire. When John saw Sherlock looking at him, he smiled. "Ah. You're awake. Are you hungry?"

"Yes." Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows. He watched John put the potatoes onto plates with the rest of the rabbit stew. He put a slice of bread on each plate. Sherlock pushed himself up to sit against the wall as John filled both of their mugs with ale. John handed Sherlock his plate, but seemed to be avoiding eye contact. John sat at the table to eat.

"John?" Sherlock asked shyly.

"Yes?"

"Will you... sit with me while you eat?"

John's cheeks went a bit pink. "Yes... yes, of course," he said.

He picked up his chair and set it next to the bed so he could sit by Sherlock's knees and face him. He set his mug of ale on the small table with Sherlock's and retrieved his plate. He began to eat. So did Sherlock.

"So," John said, "Tell me what it's like living in a castle." He grinned at Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed heavily. " _Boring_."

"Boring? _Really?_ "

"Dear God, yes. Nothing but banquets and manners and diplomacy." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Unimaginably repetitive."

"There must have been interesting things there. Art, music, sport..."

"Mm. I suspect you're already aware of my affinity for music. My vielle was the only thing that kept me from throwing myself out the nearest window." He paused and looked down. "That and... Apollo."

"Apollo?" John's voice was gentle.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. "My horse."

John was quiet for a little while. "You didn't take him with you."

"I couldn't. He would have been too easy to track."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, I... I want you to know."

They were quiet for several minutes.

"Why did you run away?" John asked gently.

"Didn't they tell you in the village?"

"You don't expect me to believe all that gossip, do you?"

"Everyone else does."

John's eyes were bright. "I'm not everyone else, now, am I?"

"No." Sherlock locked eyes with John. "No, you're really not." He looked back down at his plate. "Why did they say I ran?"

"Oh, they can't fathom why. They said you were engaged to a beautiful French princess. Then, a week ahead of the wedding, you ran off. They say you broke the poor girl's heart."

Sherlock smiled ruefully. "She wasn't a 'poor girl,' and I assure you I didn't break her heart. I'm quite sure she's glad to see me gone."

John nudged Sherlock's right knee. "Her handsome prince gone? How could she be glad of that?" He smiled encouragingly.

Sherlock felt his cheeks flush pink. He stared into his supper plate. "John, you should know the truth. I'm... I'm an unpleasant person. Abrasive. Rude. Difficult. Cruel. I assure you she was glad to be rid of me."

John's hand fell suddenly on the back of Sherlock's hand. Sherlock looked up, startled.

John's eyes were burning into Sherlock's. " _No_ ," he said, shaking his head vehemently. "That's _not true_. You are _none_ of those things. If she didn't want you, then she was a great fool and she didn't deserve you."

"John, it _is_ true. You don't know. People... don't like me. They don't come near me unless their jobs require it."

John's face was contorted with anger. His fingers clutched at Sherlock's hand. "Then they are _all_ great fools."

Sherlock couldn't speak. His chest and throat were tight. He closed his eyes, lowered his head, and focused on breathing.

After a few minutes, he looked up. There was anger and concern in John's eyes. Sherlock tried to give him a reassuring smile. "It's all right, John. Really. Please eat your supper, it's going cold."

John's eyes softened. "All right, Sherlock." He took his hand away from Sherlock's. The top of Sherlock's hand felt cold without John's. John took a small bite of stew. "You, too," he said, gesturing at Sherlock's plate.

"All right, John."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John bit back his anger. He was beginning to understand why Sherlock was so shocked that John wanted to help him. Without it being _his job_. It made him sick that Sherlock seemed to believe that he was unlikeable.

He choked down a bite of his supper. "Where were you running to?"

Sherlock paused and looked away. "I was trying to reach the port. There was a ship to Athens." He looked at John again. "I'll never make it on this leg. But it doesn't matter. I wasn't running _to_ Athens. I was running _away_ from my life. I couldn't live with being nothing but a pawn in my brother's game."

John was quiet. He tried to ignore the ache in his heart and just listen.

"My only purpose in life was to marry for political gain. Produce more princes and princesses who would grow up to do the same. I couldn't stomach it anymore. So I thought I'd disappear. Run as far as I could and become someone else." He smiled bitterly. "Someone like you."

John's heart lurched.

Sherlock looked away. "But I can't run on a broken leg. I may as well just go back."

" _No_."

Sherlock's eyes darted back to John's.

"You're not going back. Not if I have anything to say about it." John leaned forward. "We just have to keep you hidden until you can travel again."

Sherlock seemed unable to speak. John leaned over to the small table and took a drink from his mug of ale. Sherlock followed his lead and did the same. They finished their supper quietly.

John took Sherlock's plate and washed up. He went to the pile of flour sacks he'd brought from the cellar and arranged them on the floor so that he could sleep on them. He sat down in his chair and tugged his boots off.

"John." Sherlock was watching him.

John stilled, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock spoke again. "I know so little about you. Will you tell me?"

John smiled sheepishly. "What do you want to know?"

" _Everything_." Sherlock blushed. "I, well," he stammered, backpedaling. "Um, where did you grow up?"

John grinned at Sherlock's outburst. "Not far from here. Just outside the nearest village."

"Do you have family nearby, then?"

John looked down at his boots. "No, I have no family left. We fell ill with a terrible fever. Over half the village was lost to it. I was the only one in my family to survive."

He looked up. Sherlock's eyes were wide with shock and concern. "John, I'm so sorry, I never should have asked."

"No, no," John said, putting his hand out toward Sherlock. "It's all right. It was years ago."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen."

"Oh, God, John."

"It's all right."

"What did you do?"

"I became a soldier."

"And you trained as a medic."

"Yes." John smiled at Sherlock. He hoped Sherlock wouldn't see the pain under his smile. But when he saw the concern still clouding Sherlock's face, he knew Sherlock _had_ seen. John looked down at his boots again. He slid them under the chair.

He got up and tended to the fire, making sure it wouldn't go out overnight. "I should probably get some sleep. I'll be out hunting before dawn."

Sherlock started moving to get up. "Take your bed back. _Please_."

"No! Sit still!" John went to Sherlock and put his hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. "Stay right where you are."

Sherlock looked up at him pleadingly. "I've slept in your bed _all day_. You should have it back."

"Not going to happen, Sherlock! You're wounded. And you're a _prince_. I'm not putting you on the floor. That's the end of it."

"I'm not a prince anymore!"

"All right, but you're still staying where you are."

Sherlock yielded and relaxed back into the bed. The two men stared at each other. Sherlock's eyes burned into John's. "We could share it. If you would like to."

John staggered backward, looking away. "It's... it's too small to share comfortably. You wouldn't be... comfortable. With... your leg." He squeezed his eyes closed.

Sherlock's voice was quiet. "I don't mind."

John clenched his fists. He couldn't look at Sherlock. "I... I can't."

Sherlock was quiet.

"I'll just... I'll be fine. On the floor. It's all right." John took his cloak from its hook and went to his flour sacks. He breathed slowly. Deliberately. _Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together. Oh, God._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock watched him sit down on the flour sacks. John laid on his side, facing away, and pulled his cloak over himself. He hadn't undressed at all beyond removing his boots. Sherlock could see the tension in his body. He hadn't looked at Sherlock again yet.

"Good night, John," he said softly.

John tilted his head toward Sherlock. "Good night, Sherlock," he said. He wasn't actually looking at Sherlock. He tucked his head back down, almost under the cloak.

Sherlock watched the firelight play on John's hair, making the golden strands stand out from the darker ones. He pushed himself down the bed carefully until he could lie flat. He continued gazing at John.

Why was John pushing him away every time the heat between them began to build? Sherlock knew John felt it. He'd seen the desire in John's eyes several times. And yet, each time, John had abruptly broken eye contact with him.

Sherlock's heart ached as he watched John. He felt an incredibly strong connection to John, even though they had known each other for such a short time.

Sherlock knew he needed to leave. It was tearing him apart to know that John would be hurt when Sherlock disappeared, but he couldn't stay and continue to endanger him. Sherlock couldn't bear the thought of John suffering because of him. He would wait for John to go to sleep and steal away into the darkness. The problem was that Sherlock was finding it increasingly difficult to imagine a future for himself that did not include John Watson.

Sherlock watched the firelight dance in John's hair. He watched then tension in John's body fade. He kept watching as John's breathing slowed and deepened.

When Sherlock was certain that John was sleeping, he sat up slowly. Silently, he put his clothes on. He tucked his nightshirt into his pack and drew out his purse. He took half the gold out and put the purse back. He put on his right boot and his cloak, stood, shouldered his pack, and picked up the crutches. He left the gold on John's kitchen table.

Sherlock stopped to take one last look at John. The pain in his leg was horrible, but it was the pain in his heart that was truly unbearable. His vision blurred because of the tears in his eyes.

Sherlock made his way to the door. He unbarred it and began to open it.

"What in _hell_ do you think you're _doing_?"

Sherlock spun around to face John. " _Keeping you safe!_ "

John leapt to his feet, fire in his eyes. "I thought I made myself clear! _I won't let you go out there alone!_ "

"And I thought _I_ made myself clear! _I won't put you in danger any longer!_ " Sherlock yanked the door open.

John ran to the door before Sherlock could get out. He shoved the door closed and grabbed Sherlock's upper arms. "Sherlock, _please_! We'll think of a way to get you away from the king's men! I can't bear to have you out there alone and injured!" John's eyes burned into Sherlock's.

"But, John, if anything happens to you because of me..."

John leaned in closer. " _Nothing is going to happen to me._ "

" _You don't know that!_ " Sherlock hissed.

John closed his eyes and looked down. "No." He lifted his chin and looked into Sherlock's eyes again. "But I don't care about that. It's more important to me that _you_ are taken care of."

Sherlock was at a loss. "But... how can you value my safety over your own?"

"I don't know. All I know is that you are the most remarkable man I've ever met. Please don't leave. There has to be another way."

" _John_." Sherlock closed his eyes and slumped against his crutches.

Sherlock would need to think of another plan. It was clear to him now that he was not capable of walking away from John Watson.

John moved to Sherlock's side and led him back to the bed. Sherlock removed his cloak and sat down. John bent down and pulled Sherlock's boot off. He stood back up.

Sherlock took John's hand in both of his. "John." Sherlock looked up into John's eyes. "You've been kinder to me than I could ever deserve. You're an extraordinary man. Today has been the best day of my life."

John was incredulous. "Best day of your - Sherlock, you _broke your leg_! How could it possibly be the -"

"Because I met you. Breaking my leg brought me to you." He squeezed John's hand. "It was worth the injury. It would be worth many injuries to spend even a moment with you."

John gaped at Sherlock, clearly speechless. Sherlock lifted his hand to the neckline of John's shirt and took hold of it. His hand fisted around the laces at the top of John's shirt. He pulled John down and kissed the corner of his mouth.

John pulled back a few inches and closed his eyes. " _Sherlock_..." He turned his head to the side. His voice was choked. " _I can't_."

Sherlock twisted his hand in John's shirt and put his other hand on the back of John's head, his fingers pushing into John's hair. His hair was soft. "Why not?" Sherlock whispered.

John kept his eyes squeezed shut. "You're... vulnerable. I don't want to take advantage."

"Don't be ridiculous, John."

"I'm not being _ridiculous_! I don't want you to think you... _owe_ me."

"I _do_ owe you. I'll never be able to repay you for your generosity. But that has nothing to do with what's happening between us." He stroked his fingers through John's hair. "I kissed you because I wanted to. And it's killing me that you won't kiss me back." He tugged on John's shirt a little. "If you don't want me, I'll find a way to deal with it. But I've seen you looking at me, and I think you want me, too."

John still had his eyes closed. "God help me. I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone." He finally turned and looked into Sherlock's eyes. "You're sure you want this?"

"More than anything." He grinned at John. "You want me to beg for it?"

John finally relaxed, grinning back. "Maybe later." He put both his hands into Sherlock's hair and pulled him into a scorching kiss.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

Heat surged through John's body as he pulled Sherlock in. Sherlock's lips were warm and soft against his. Sherlock opened his mouth, pushing his tongue against John's lips. John opened his mouth in response, allowing Sherlock's tongue in.

Sherlock's hands tightened on John's shirt and hair. He leaned back slightly, dragging John downward. John ran his hands over Sherlock's shoulders and down his body. His pushed his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock let out a low moan. John's hands had reached Sherlock's hips. He pushed them under his shirt. Sherlock's skin was soft. John sighed against Sherlock's mouth. He could feel Sherlock's muscles contracting as he began tugging at John's shirt. Sherlock loosened the laces at the top and pulled it up. John broke their kiss to allow Sherlock to pull his shirt off over his head.

Sherlock dropped the shirt on the floor next to John. His eyes were bright with passion as he took in the sight of John standing in front of him. John saw him shudder. "You're stunning," Sherlock whispered.

He reached up and stroked John's shoulders, keeping his touch light over the scarring on the left side. John's arousal surged again when he felt Sherlock's touch on his bare skin. Sherlock's hands moved down to stroke John's chest. John leaned down to kiss Sherlock again. He pulled Sherlock's shirt up, reluctantly breaking the kiss again so he could get Sherlock's shirt off.

John froze, the shirt still in his hands as he looked at Sherlock. The firelight was glowing and dancing over Sherlock's skin. He was looking up at John, the firelight mingling with the heat in his eyes. John had never seen anything so beautiful. Sherlock put a hand against John's cheek. "All right?" he asked quietly.

"You're so gorgeous. I can't quite believe you're real." John looked at him in wonder.

Sherlock smiled shyly and carefully put his legs on John's bed. He settled his left leg close to the wall and laid back. "Come here," he said quietly. He hooked his right hand into John's waistband. John gasped, the shirt falling from his hands onto the floor. Sherlock pulled him against the edge of the bed. "Lie down with me, John."

John allowed Sherlock to pull him into the bed, careful to avoid putting any pressure on Sherlock's left leg. Sherlock's hands guided John down so he was on top of him. He shoved his right leg between John's.

John closed his eyes as his body settled against Sherlock's. He groaned as his erection pressed into the hollow of Sherlock's hip. He felt Sherlock huff out a breath as John's hip settled on top of Sherlock's erection.

Sherlock reclaimed John's mouth in a deep kiss. He wrapped his arms around John and held their bodies tightly together.

John rocked slightly in Sherlock's arms, shifting the pressure against their erections. Their kiss faltered as they both moaned in response to the movement. John kissed and licked his way down Sherlock's jaw and neck. He continued rocking, keeping the motion small to avoid hurting Sherlock.

Sherlock whimpered. "John, John, John!" John ran his tongue over Sherlock's collarbone. Sherlock grabbed John's hair with both hands and dragged his head upward until their mouths met again. He released John's hair and stroked his hands over John's back. He then slid his hands between their bodies and untied John's breeches, loosening them. He continued kissing John deeply. His hands stroked over John's back again before plunging under his waistband and grabbing hold of his arse. John gasped, breaking out of their kiss. Sherlock growled. His fingers clutched at John's arse and pulled his hips down firmly against Sherlock's.

John cried out. "Oh! Sherlock!" Sherlock squirmed under John's body. John moaned in response, shoving his hands into Sherlock's hair and kissing him heatedly.

John suddenly released Sherlock's hair and pushed himself up so he was kneeling, straddling Sherlock's thigh. Sherlock's hands dropped away with the movement, falling back onto the bed. John looked down at Sherlock and groaned at the sight of him. Sherlock was laid out half naked and quivering under him, looking completely debauched. His face and neck were pink with stubble burn, his hair was tousled from John's fingers, and his eyes were alight with passion. He and John were both panting.

John untied Sherlock's breeches with trembling hands. He loosened them and pulled them down several inches. He then pulled Sherlock's underclothes down to reveal his cock.

John took a moment to look at Sherlock, trembling beneath him in the firelight. "So beautiful," he whispered. He put his hands on Sherlock's waist. He dragged his left hand down the hollow of Sherlock's hip and grasped his erection. Sherlock cried out, arching his back. John stroked him once, pushing his thumb across the head. Sherlock shuddered and cried out again. "J-John!"

John took his hand away, causing Sherlock to make a bereft little noise. Then Sherlock's eyes widened as John put his hand to his own mouth, licking it. John dropped his wet left hand back down onto Sherlock's cock. Sherlock moaned and squeezed his eyes closed, his back arching again. John put his right hand on the bed and leaned onto it, holding his body above Sherlock's and capturing his mouth again in a searing kiss.

After a few moments, Sherlock broke the kiss, gasping for air. His hands were pushing John's chest upward. John stopped stroking Sherlock and got up onto his knees again, confused at having been pushed away.

But Sherlock was pushing John's breeches and underclothes down, the desire in his eyes stronger than ever. "Together, together," he was saying. John shuddered as Sherlock exposed his aching cock. Sherlock put his hand to his own mouth. John moaned as he watched Sherlock licking at his hand. He lowered his body again as Sherlock reached for him. When Sherlock's wet hand closed around him, he cried out, "Oh, God, _Sherlock_!" and began stroking Sherlock again earnestly.

Sherlock's other hand grabbed the back of John's head and pulled him into another kiss. The kiss broke as Sherlock began whimpering.

"Close, John, I'm so close."

John intensified his strokes and rested his forehead against Sherlock's. "Yes, _yes, show me_ ," he commanded.

 _"John!_ " Sherlock cried, thrashing and arching under him. John lifted his head so he could see the pleasure on Sherlock's face as he spilled between them. The sight of him pushed John over the edge. His vision whited out as he came hard. It was all John could do to hold himself up.

When John opened his eyes, Sherlock was staring up at him, eyes glassy with pleasure and wonder. John kissed him tenderly and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his handkerchief and gently wiped them clean. He dropped the handkerchief to the floor and finally lowered his body, half on top of Sherlock. Sherlock's arms wrapped around him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock sighed as John lowered his body onto Sherlock's. He wrapped his arms around John. They were both trembling. Sherlock stroked John's back. "John," he whispered. "I've never felt like this before."

John sighed against Sherlock's shoulder. "Neither have I, Sherlock." He lifted his head and put a hand in Sherlock's hair. He drew Sherlock in for a tender kiss. Then he put their foreheads together for a moment, stroking his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

John pushed himself up carefully and stood. He hiked his breeches back up, but left them untied. Sherlock was mildly concerned. "Where are you going, John?"

John grinned at him. "Nowhere. I just thought we might not be comfortable sleeping with our breeches halfway off."

Sherlock grinned back. "Perhaps not." He propped himself up on his elbows.

"Should we do them back up, or get rid of them?"

"Get rid of them, of course! Honestly, John, what a question."

John snickered. "Didn't want to presume, that's all. Here, I'll help with yours. How is your leg?"

"Still broken."

"Yes, but... did I hurt you?"

"No, John." Sherlock picked his right leg up and bent his knee so John could pull his breeches and underclothes off of it. Then John very gently took them off his left leg. He then removed Sherlock's stockings, leaving him completely nude.

The firelight was dancing in John's eyes as he gazed at Sherlock. "You are the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen, Sherlock." He pulled the fur coverlet over Sherlock to keep him warm and began removing his own clothes. Sherlock watched him intently. He seemed to glow in the firelight.

"John, you're incredibly beautiful. Get in here with me." Sherlock lifted the coverlet to allow John to slide in. They tangled themselves together in the small bed. Sherlock pressed one more kiss to John's lips. "Sleep now. You need to rest."

"Yes, you too," John mumbled, eyes closed, already relaxing into the bed. Sherlock stroked John's hair until he fell asleep.

Sherlock held John close as he slept. He watched John's chest rise and fall with his breathing. He put his ear to John's chest and listened to his heartbeat. He studied John's face. He was memorizing every minute detail of the miracle that was John Watson. Because Sherlock knew it couldn't last.

People didn't like Sherlock. Without exception. And John was the most incredible man Sherlock had ever met. He deserved someone like himself. Not someone like Sherlock. John would eventually see this truth. And he would send Sherlock away. Sherlock didn't know if he would survive.

So he stayed awake for a long time, memorizing the way John felt in his arms. He didn't want to miss a moment, knowing that any given moment could be the last. As the first pale glow of dawn approached, Sherlock finally closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

The sun was shining brightly when John stirred, his movements waking Sherlock. Sherlock stretched slightly and nuzzled his head into John's neck.

Sherlock was startled when John groaned in dismay. He pulled back so he could see John's face. "What's wrong, John?"

"I've slept way too late. I need to hunt today, and it's well past dawn already."

Sherlock dropped his head back down against John's neck in relief. "Don't go hunting, John. Stay here with me."

"I'd much rather stay with you, believe me, but if we are going to eat, I need to hunt."

"Boring."

John laughed. It was a beautiful sound. Sherlock wanted to make John laugh like that every day for the rest of his life.

"Starving to death is boring, too, Sherlock."

Sherlock had decided he was done with talking for the moment. He pulled John's body tightly against his and kissed him thoroughly. He dragged his mouth away from John's so he could lick and nip at John's neck. He could feel John's erection against his hip.

"Sherlock..." John's voice was already broken. "I have to go."

" _No!_ You're already late. What's a few more minutes?" Sherlock focused his attention on John's ear, nipping at the lobe.

John groaned. "Oh, _Sherlock_." He surrendered, his hands now roving over Sherlock's body. He brought both hands up into Sherlock's hair and pulled him into a deep kiss. Then, still holding Sherlock's hair, he pulled back and grinned wolfishly. Sherlock shuddered.

John pushed backward, moving down the bed. He released Sherlock's hair and ran his hands over Sherlock's chest and belly. He trailed his tongue down Sherlock's body. Lower, lower. Sherlock was already panting when John took his cock into his mouth. Sherlock cried out, his hands moving into John's hair.

John's mouth was hot, wet, and very talented. Sherlock was lost in pleasure, moaning and writhing under John. After only a few minutes, Sherlock was already at the edge. "Oh, John, John, c-close..." Sherlock tried to pull John's head away, but John just worked Sherlock harder.

Sherlock threw his head back, his orgasm overtaking him. He shuddered and groaned as John swallowed around him. When he was completely spent, Sherlock dropped his arms limply.

John released Sherlock. He was still on his hands and knees over Sherlock's body. He watched Sherlock pant and tremble and took hold of his own cock. He began to stroke himself, sighing.

Sherlock grabbed at John's shoulders. "No, let me, let me," he said. "Come up here where I can reach you."

John looked up at Sherlock, his deep blue eyes full of heat. He crawled forward until Sherlock grasped him. He groaned and lowered his head to Sherlock's shoulder.

"Higher, John. I want you in my mouth."

John's head snapped back up. He looked at Sherlock with concern. "I don't expect that of you. You're injured..."

" _I know that!_ I want it. If I weren't _injured_ , I'd have flipped you over and swallowed you down by now."

John moaned, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Bring that lovely cock up here, John. _Now_."

John shuddered. He looked into Sherlock's eyes, already lost. Sherlock put a hand on John's arse and pushed him higher. John crawled forward again. He rose up on his knees and leaned on the wall. Sherlock used the hand on John's arse to guide his hips down. Finally, finally, John's cock was at Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock still had one hand on John's arse and the other on his cock. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of the head. John let out a choked, sobbing sound. Sherlock took the whole head into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue. John was moaning helplessly. He was shaking with the effort of holding himself up. Sherlock used his grip on John's arse to guide John's cock in and out of his mouth. John was crying out incoherently. Sherlock felt him get even harder. John tried to pull back, obviously at the edge of orgasm. Sherlock refused to let go, pulling John deeper into his mouth. John's body arched as he came. Sherlock swallowed, still not letting go.

John's body relaxed, going so limp he almost fell onto Sherlock. Sherlock finally released him. John pushed back from the wall on trembling arms, sliding back into the bed next to Sherlock. "Oh, God, _Sherlock_ ," he moaned. He wrapped his arms weakly around Sherlock and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

They didn't move for several minutes. Then John pushed himself up. He kissed Sherlock and tried to get out of the bed. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him tightly, holding him down.

"Sherlock," John sighed. "I really have to go. I need to tend the fire and go hunting."

Sherlock made an exasperated noise, but let John up. John dressed quickly. He took care of the fire so Sherlock would be warm while he was gone.

John saw the pile of gold on the table and sighed in frustration. "How many times do I have to tell you? I don't want your gold." He scooped it up in both of his hands. "Dear God, I've never seen so much gold. How did you think you'd get by on your own after giving me all of it?"

Sherlock looked away. "That's... half of it."

John was silent. After a moment, Sherlock reluctantly turned to look at him. John was staring at the gold in his hands, his mouth open in shock. He looked up at Sherlock. "You're joking."

Sherlock shook his head slowly.

"There's more gold in my hands right now than there is in the entire village." He knelt and put it into Sherlock's pack. Sherlock was afraid he was angry, but John just shook his head and smiled at him warmly when he stood back up. Sherlock smiled back, relieved.

John divided the rest of the rye loaf, putting half on a plate on the small table next to the bed. He brought Sherlock a mug of ale as well. He drank down his own ale and ate his bread quickly. Sherlock watched him silently.

John put his cloak on and shouldered his bow and quiver. He crossed the room to Sherlock's side. He stroked Sherlock's hair. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He leaned down and kissed Sherlock. He moved to stand back up.

Sherlock grabbed John's shirt, holding him in place. "I'll be waiting," he whispered before kissing John heatedly. He let go. John staggered back unsteadily. Sherlock grinned at him.

John found his way to the door. "Right then. Back soon," he said. He took one more look at Sherlock and left.

Sherlock was still for several minutes before he stretched his three sound limbs languorously. He sighed contentedly. He let a few more minutes pass before sitting up slowly. John had picked up the clothing scattered over the floor. He'd placed Sherlock's clothes on his pack. Sherlock put his underclothes, stockings, and nightshirt on. Everything else he stored in his pack, his cloak folded on top.

Sherlock ate the bread and drank the ale while he was still upright. Then he settled back into bed for a nap.

He was just drifting off when he heard it. Footsteps. Someone was running at full speed, approaching the house.

Sherlock was already sitting up with his hunting knife drawn when a body crashed into the door. His eyes widened in terror. The door burst open and John flew into the room, panting with exertion. " _John!_ " The knife clattered to the floor. "What is it?"

John had tossed his bow and quiver to the floor and was already throwing Sherlock's pack onto his shoulders. "They're coming! Two guards on horseback! I saw them coming over the hill on the other side of the stream!"

In seconds, Sherlock had his knife sheathed and his boot on and was up on his crutches. John threw Sherlock's cloak over him and helped him out the door.

They quickly made their way to the cellar. John opened the hatch and guided Sherlock down the stairs. He put the pack down. "There's a lamp and a flint right here," John said in a rush, pointing the items out. " _I won't let them find you_." John's eyes were full of fire. He pulled Sherlock into a brief, bruising kiss. "I'll come back for you when they're gone."

He was up the stairs in a rush. Sherlock grabbed the flint and the lamp. He locked eyes with John. John closed the hatch. Sherlock was in the dark. He heard John covering the hatch with dirt and leaves. Then John's footsteps retreated quickly. Sherlock lit the lamp with shaking hands.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John flew back into the house, scanning for evidence. Two plates! He put Sherlock's plate away, then dried his mug and put it away. He looked again. The flour sacks! He restacked them quickly and slid them under the bed. He looked again. Nothing. They had been right to keep Sherlock's things gathered. He hurriedly hung up his bow and quiver.

John's heart was pounding. He was gasping for air as he went outside. As he watched the crest of the hill for the riders, he focused on slowing his breathing. He was Sherlock's only defense. He had to get his fear under control. He picked up the rabbit he'd tossed onto his animal cleaning bench as he had run to the house. He pulled his hunting knife out of his belt and sat on the bench, one eye on the crest of the hill.

John took a slow, deep breath. _I won't fail you, Sherlock_. He let the breath out and hung the rabbit up as though he was about to skin it.  A couple of minutes passed. The riders crested the hill. John watched them take note of the house and come down his direction. He fussed with the rabbit, pretending he was still tying it. When the riders were near, he walked out to meet them.

John grinned at the riders. "Ho there! What brings two fine gentlemen all the way out here?"

The bigger one scowled. "Seen anyone else come through in the last few days?"

John put a confused expression on. "No, sir. Don't exactly get much traffic here. Are you looking for someone?" John gasped. "Are you looking for that prince they were talking about in the village?"

The smaller man spoke. "Yeah. The spoiled, selfish brat," he muttered.

John tamped his anger down and put a big goofy grin on. "You really think he came this way? That would make quite a story to tell next time I visit the village!"

The bigger man rolled his eyes. "If you see anything unusual, there's a reward being offered. The King wants him brought back."

The smaller man grumbled again. "God only knows why."

"Can I get you gentlemen anything? Ale? Water? I've got a fresh rabbit, just shot it this morning. You're more than welcome."

"We need to keep moving," the bigger man said. "I'll need to take a look inside the house. And we'll take the rabbit."

"Of course, of course," John said, grinning vapidly. "Happy to help."

The bigger man dismounted, passing his horse's reins to the smaller man. John walked to the house with him and opened the door. The man went in and looked around. He walked out and crossed to the rabbit, pulling a knife from his belt. He cut the rabbit down and took it with him. He tossed it to the smaller man, who put it in one of the bags hanging from his saddle.

The bigger man mounted his horse. He turned to John. "Don't forget there's a reward. You see anything unusual, go to our men in the village."

"Yes, sir!" John grinned again. The two guards rode past the house and over the hill. As soon as they passed from sight, John ran up the hill after them. He slowed as he approached the crest of the hill to avoid making too much noise. He watched the riders until they crested the next hill and went out of sight.

John ran back down the hill. When he reached the cellar hatch, he started calling out quietly. "It's me, Sherlock, it's me, I'm back." He swept the leaves away and opened the hatch. Sherlock looked as terrified as John felt.

"Are they gone?"

"Yes, over the next hill. I've got to follow them to be sure they don't come back." John rushed down the stairs and hugged Sherlock tightly. "I'm sorry, but you'll need to stay here until I'm sure they're gone."

"Yes, of course, John."

John kissed Sherlock quickly and ran back up the stairs. "I'll come back for you."

Sherlock locked eyes with him. "I know."

John closed the hatch and camouflaged it. He ran back up the hill. Then he ran over the next hill. And the next. He saw the riders. They were covering ground quickly. John sighed in relief. He followed them for another mile to be sure. Then he returned as quickly as he could to Sherlock.

John approached the cellar hatch. "Sherlock, Sherlock, it's me." He opened the hatch, ran down the stairs, and grabbed Sherlock. Sherlock and John clung to each other silently for several minutes.

"Do you think they're really gone?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John nodded. "Yes, I think so." He stroked Sherlock's hair. "Oh, Sherlock, I've never been so terrified. Not even in battle. I thought I might lose you." He buried his face in Sherlock's cloak.

"John, I was so afraid something would happen to you because of me, I couldn't bear it." Sherlock was trembling against John.

"Oh, my darling," John sighed against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock's arms tightened around John. He tilted his head down so his cheek rested against John's hair.

After a few more minutes, John took a deep breath and stepped back. "Let's get you back to the house." He shouldered Sherlock's pack and helped him up the stairs.  Sherlock watched John close and hide the hatch. They walked slowly back to the house. John brought Sherlock to the bed and set down the pack. Sherlock took his cloak off and sat down. John bent down and removed Sherlock's boot. He stood and hung up his own cloak. He removed his own boots and went to Sherlock. Sherlock laid down and John crawled into the bed next to him. They put their arms around each other. John closed his eyes.  He spoke quietly. "Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"We've got to get you away from here. I have a plan to get us to the port."

"John..."

"You'll have to walk to my friend Mike's farm with me. It won't be easy for you. It's ten miles. But Mike can help us. He raises horses. We can buy two of them and get to the port. We'll get you different clothes, disguise you. It's the only plan I've been able to come up with." He stroked his hand over Sherlock's chest. "What do you think we should do?"

John sat up a little so he could see Sherlock's face. Sherlock's eyes were closed. He looked like he was in pain. John put his hand to Sherlock's cheek. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock kept his eyes squeezed shut. "I hate that you're in danger because of me. You deserve so much better, John."

"Look at me, Sherlock."

Sherlock opened his eyes.

"The time I've had with you has been more than I could ever ask for. You're worth the danger. You're worth leaving everything behind and starting over. I can't lose you now."

"John, I can't imagine a life without you any more. You're everything to me." He put his hand on John's cheek. "I love you."

John was overwhelmed. His heart was so full he thought it might crack open. It was a moment before he could speak. "Sherlock, my darling, I love you, too." They pulled each other into a kiss. Then John put his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"John, do you really want to come with me? You'll lose everything you've built here."

"So I'll build it again. You're well worth it, dear heart."

"I wish that were true. But, John, I tried to tell you yesterday. I'm... not nice. I'm rude, condescending, arrogant, dismissive. People don't like me. You deserve better. You deserve someone like you. And you deserve to know the truth about me before you leave your home."

John sat up and looked at him. "Sherlock. I've heard quite enough about what other people think about you. I don't care about them. And I don't want someone like me. I want _you_." He smoothed Sherlock's hair back from his forehead. "I'm yours for as long as you'll have me, my love." He leaned down and kissed Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock closed his eyes. " _John_."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock held John tightly in his arms. He was amazed that this exceptional man wanted to be with him.

Sherlock and John laid in the bed quietly for several minutes. Sherlock's leg was throbbing from his flight to the cellar. He considered John's plan. It was as sound a plan as any. It wouldn't be pleasant for Sherlock to walk ten miles, but he didn't want to stay here waiting for his brother's men to find them. He spoke quietly. "John, I think we should leave at sundown. I'll be slow, but I can walk the ten miles. I can do anything if it means the chance to be with you."

John's voice was choked. "I wish there was a better way. I hate to put you through it, Sweetheart."

"It will be worth it, John. Don't worry," Sherlock said, stroking his fingers through John's hair.

John sat up after a moment. "I'm going to go back to the cellar to gather some things. I need to pack a bag."

"You mean _finish_ packing a bag."

John's eyes widened. "How did you -"

"I'm glad you're bringing your mother's vase. I know it's important to you."

John stared at Sherlock in shock. "How - how do you know that?"

"Simple. I saw you packing flatbread into the bag you put under the bed. I noticed the vase when you first brought me in. It was already gone from the mantel when you put the bag under the bed."

"And you know it was my mother's?"

"It's not exactly the kind of thing a young man buys for himself. So someone gave it to you - or left it to you. You had it over the fireplace, at the focal point of the room. It had to have belonged to someone important to you. Probably someone who has died. The most likely candidate: your mother. Mike kept it for you while you were at war."

John was gaping openly at Sherlock now.

Suddenly, Sherlock realized what he'd done. _This is it. The moment they all turn on me. When I expose their secrets. Oh, God_. He closed his eyes and tried to brace himself. His heart was pounding. A moment passed.

"How did you know Mike kept it?"

Sherlock opened one eye. John didn't look angry. Sherlock tentatively opened his other eye and answered John. "You couldn't have kept it yourself through all those battles. And Mike is clearly your closest friend."

" _Was_ my closest friend. Until I met you." John put his hand on Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock was stunned. "You're not... angry?"

John's brow furrowed. "Why would I be angry?"

"Everyone else gets angry when I... notice things. I think it makes them feel... exposed."

"Well, let me remind you." John leaned down, closer to Sherlock. " _I am not everyone else_. And you are a wonder, Sherlock." John smiled brightly at him. His thumb stroked Sherlock's cheek. "Truly remarkable."

Sherlock stared up at John, still finding it hard to believe that John wanted to be with him. He took hold of John's shirt and pulled him down for a kiss.

John kissed Sherlock senseless before sitting back up. "I need to go to the cellar before it gets any later. I'll be back in a few minutes, my love."

"I adore you, John."

John smiled broadly. "And I adore you, Sherlock." He stood up and went to put his boots on.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John left quietly and went to the cellar. He lit the lamp and looked through his belongings. He had already packed dried meat and chestnuts for the journey. He picked up some more for them to eat for supper, some potatoes, and a spool of twine. He would leave the rest for Mike.

John closed and camouflaged the hatch. He walked a slow circle around his house and went back inside. When he went in, he and Sherlock smiled shyly at each other. The fire was dying.

John set the food and the spool of twine on the kitchen table and went through the rest of his things. He packed the potatoes and his pieces of spare clothing.

John took his boots off and sat down on the bed. He stroked Sherlock's hair gently. "I'm ready, Sherlock. We can leave at sundown."

"You're sure about this?"

"Of course I'm sure. I love you."

John leaned down and kissed Sherlock. Sherlock tugged at John's shirt, pulling him down into the bed. John felt a surge of arousal through his whole body. He put his hands in Sherlock's hair and kissed him heatedly. Carefully, he put his body on top of Sherlock's, straddling his right leg. Sherlock sighed against John's mouth. He was as hard as John was.

Sherlock's hands moved to John's lower back. He clutched at John, pulling him down tightly against himself. He started pulling John's shirt up, sliding his hands beneath it. John moaned at the feel of Sherlock's hands on his bare skin.

He ground his hips against Sherlock's, causing Sherlock to shudder and gasp for breath. " _John_ ," he whimpered.

A low growl came from John's throat. He tugged at Sherlock's hair and ground his hips down again. Sherlock arched his back as John tugged his head back, tipping his chin up and exposing his neck.  John attacked Sherlock's neck, nipping and licking at it. Sherlock was trembling and gasping beneath him. He pulled at John's shirt, trying to take it off.

John rose up on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. He grabbed Sherlock's nightshirt and pulled up. Sherlock pushed up with his right leg, lifting his hips so John could get his nightshirt out from under him. He was looking intently up at John, eyes alight with passion.

John pulled Sherlock's nightshirt off and dropped it. Sherlock brought his hands up. He trailed his fingers over John's upper body. John surrendered to Sherlock's touch, leaning over him and closing his eyes.

Sherlock untied John's breeches, pushing them down a few inches. John got up for a moment so he could pull the rest of his clothes off. Then he finished undressing Sherlock, taking care not to hurt him. John was struck again by just how beautiful Sherlock was. He stroked his fingers down Sherlock's body, looking at him in wonder.  Sherlock grabbed John's arm, pulling him back into the bed. John straddled Sherlock's hips and locked eyes with him. Sherlock's eyes burned into his. John leaned down and kissed Sherlock deeply. He broke loose and worked his way down Sherlock's jaw and neck. Sherlock was panting. "Oh, John, John!" he cried.

Sherlock stroked his hands down John's back. He took hold of John's arse and pulled him down. John let his weight fall against Sherlock. Both of them groaned as their bodies crushed together. John rolled his hips gently. Sherlock gasped and pushed up against him. "John, oh John, t-touch me! _Please!_ "

John moaned at Sherlock's words and pushed himself upright, his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. He dragged his hands down Sherlock's body.

" _Please_ , John!"

"Oh, yes, my love." John's hands passed Sherlock's waist. His left hand gripped Sherlock's hip as his right grasped Sherlock's cock.

Sherlock's hips pushed up against John. He cried out, "Oh, God, John, _yes!_ " Sherlock was blindly reaching out for John, trying to take hold of him in return. John put his left hand out and caught Sherlock's hand. He pulled it to his mouth. He kept hold of Sherlock's cock with his right hand as he put two of Sherlock's fingers into his mouth. Sherlock cried out wordlessly. John stroked Sherlock's fingers with his tongue. He then licked Sherlock's palm. Sherlock was trembling and moaning under John.

John pushed Sherlock's wet hand down as he positioned his hips to line his aching cock up against Sherlock's. He wrapped Sherlock's hand around both of them. He tipped his head back and moaned as he felt Sherlock's hand close around them. "Oh, Sherlock, my darling."

Sherlock squeezed lightly as John began to guide his hand up and down. John was lost in pleasure. He started thrusting gently into Sherlock's hand. "I'm - I'm so close, Sherlock!" He dropped his head forward to look at Sherlock. "Are you - are you close, Sweetheart?"

Sherlock moaned, words beyond him now. He nodded his head desperately.

John fixed his eyes on Sherlock's. "Let me see, Beautiful. _Spend for me_ ," he commanded. Sherlock gasped and then stopped breathing. His back arched and he shuddered hard as he came. John felt Sherlock coming right against his cock and lost control, coming so hard he fell down against Sherlock.  Sherlock groaned loudly when John dropped on him, panting as he began breathing again. John was crying out and shuddering as his orgasm washed over him.

As John came back to himself, he pushed up shakily, suddenly concerned. "Are you all right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was still panting. "Better than all right." He grinned widely at John.

"But did I hurt you, Honey? I didn't mean to fall on you." He pushed Sherlock's hair back from his forehead.

"No, John. I'm fine. And truthfully, if you had, I wouldn't mind." Sherlock put his clean hand in John's hair and pulled him into a languid kiss. John put his arm over the side of the bed and retrieved his handkerchief to clean them up.  When he was finished, John shifted his weight to the side and rested half on top of Sherlock. He laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock stroked his fingers through John's hair. "I love you, too, John."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

John was heavy and warm, halfway on top of Sherlock. Sherlock continued stroking his hair, listening to his breathing become slower and deeper. He marveled at his good fortune and made a silent vow that he would take care of John. Keep him safe. Give him _everything_. Sherlock closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

Sherlock woke when John stirred against him. John started to get up. Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around him, pinning him in place. John laughed. "I have to get up, my darling. It's almost dusk."

Sherlock made a noise of displeasure and reluctantly released John. He watched John get dressed and set out a supper of dried meat, chestnuts, and ale. Sherlock got dressed slowly and propped himself against the wall. John lit a candle and placed it on the small table. He pulled his chair up next to the bed and sat with Sherlock while they ate. After they were finished, John washed up and made sure the house was tidy. He also checked the fire, making sure it was out.

John took his and Sherlock's water skins to the well and filled them. While he was outside, Sherlock repacked his bag. John came back in and stood in front of Sherlock. He rolled up the fur coverlet and tied it to his pack with twine. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes, John." Sherlock reached for his water skin.

John pulled it out of reach. "Oh, no, I'll carry it. I don't want your pack any heavier than it absolutely has to be."

Sherlock smiled at him ruefully. "Thank you." He got up on his crutches and put his cloak and pack on. John put his cloak on and shouldered his quiver, pack, and bow. He blew out the candle.  They walked out of the house and up the hill. Sherlock stopped at the crest of the hill. He turned back to look at the house in the moonlight, John at his side. "I'm sorry you have to leave your home behind, John."

"Well, I'm not sorry." John put his hand on Sherlock's cheek. "We'll build a better one. Somewhere no one will find us."

Sherlock raised his hand and put it over John's. He took John's hand and kissed it. He turned and started walking again.  Sherlock's leg was already throbbing. He worried that he wouldn't be able to make the journey, but he pushed on, cresting the next hill.

John touched Sherlock's arm, halting him. "Why don't we take a break, my darling?" John smiled at him encouragingly, but Sherlock could see the concern in his eyes.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea to stop for a few minutes." Sherlock tried not to let the pain show on his face. They sat on the ground for a while. John gave him some water. After they had rested for several minutes, he helped Sherlock get up and they continued walking. They stopped at the top of each hill to allow Sherlock to rest.

As they sat on one of the hills, John stroked his hand through Sherlock's hair. "I'm so sorry you have to do this. I know a place where we can stop. There's a hidden glen a little over halfway to Mike's farm. We'll be safe there until tomorrow night."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sweetheart. I didn't know the glen was there for months. You can't see it until you're right on top of it. No one will disturb us."

Sherlock pulled John into an embrace. "I don't know what I'd do without you, John."

John squeezed Sherlock lightly and dropped a kiss on the side of his neck. He stood up and held out his hand to help Sherlock up. "Come on. It's not far now."

John was true to his word. Sherlock didn't see the glen until he was almost at the edge of it. John showed him the way down into the glen. The trees closed around them. There was a little clearing next to a spring at the bottom.  John pushed dry leaves into a pile on the clearing, one end higher than the other. He took off his cloak and draped it over the leaves. He led Sherlock to the makeshift mattress and helped him sit down. He put fresh water from the spring into their water skins and brought Sherlock's to him.

Sherlock drank gratefully. John opened his pack and gave Sherlock some flatbread, dried meat, and chestnuts as well. He sat down next to Sherlock. Sherlock pulled him close. He untied his cloak and wrapped it around both of them so he could keep John warm. They ate silently.

When they were finished eating, John helped Sherlock lie down, raising his leg onto the higher part of the makeshift mattress. He put Sherlock's cloak over him. He untied the fur coverlet from his pack and put that over Sherlock as well. He pushed the covers off Sherlock's leg. "The cold air will help with the swelling, my darling."

Sherlock grabbed at John's hand. "Lie down with me, John. I don't want you to be cold."

John smiled. He slid under the coverlet and cloak and laid against Sherlock's right side, draping his arm over Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock was in a great deal of pain. He was very sore under his arms because of the crutches, despite the care John had taken to make them as comfortable as possible. His back ached. His right leg was strained from overuse. And his left leg... his left leg had swollen terribly. The skin was so tight he feared it would split. The thigh muscles were strained from holding his leg off the ground. But worst of all was the pain radiating in waves from his cracked tibia. Sherlock had tried to keep the pain from showing on his face so that John wouldn't worry. But now, with John's head resting against his shoulder, Sherlock let his face contort in agony. He still deliberately controlled his breathing, but tears began to fall past his temples and into his hair.

John stroked Sherlock's chest. "I'm so sorry, my love. Go ahead and cry. I won't think less of you. And it might help a little."

Sherlock couldn't hold back anymore. He put his hands over his face and sobbed.

John propped himself up on his elbow and stroked his fingers through Sherlock's hair. He began singing quietly. Sherlock could barely focus at first, but the sweet sound of John's voice soon began to quiet him.

" _More than honey the words you speak are sweet_ ,"

Sherlock lowered his hands, wiping at the tears. He looked up at John wonderingly. John was still stroking Sherlock's hair. John's eyes were wet.

" _Honest and wise, nobly and wittily said_ ,"

Sherlock put a hand on John's arm.

John stopped singing just long enough to say, "Close your eyes, my darling."

" _Yours are the beauties of Camiola complete,  Of Iseult the blonde and Morgana the fairy maid_."

Sherlock let his eyes fall closed and allowed the quiet loveliness of John's voice to overtake him.

" _If Blanchefleur should be added to the group,  Your loveliness would tower above each head_."

Sherlock was drifting now, his exhaustion getting the better of him.

" _Beneath your brows five beautiful things repose:  Love and a fire and a flame, the lily, the rose_."

And Sherlock was asleep.

When he woke, the morning sun was filtering down through the trees. His pain, while still present, had subsided quite a bit. The swelling was considerably better as well. John was warm, slumbering at Sherlock's side.

Sherlock stayed still, not wanting to wake John. He listened to John's slow breathing until his eyes closed again and sleep took him once more.

When Sherlock woke again, the sun was high and John was gone. Sherlock sat up slowly and looked around. John was pulling food out of his pack for them. When he saw Sherlock looking at him, he grinned and came over to him.

John knelt down next to Sherlock and put his hand on Sherlock's cheek. "You look much better. How do you feel?"

"Better."

John smoothed Sherlock's hair off his forehead. "Are you hungry?"

"A little."

John smiled and got up. He brought over the food and fresh water from the spring. The afternoon sun was warm. Sherlock pushed the coverlet and cloak aside. They ate together quietly.  When they were finished, John helped Sherlock lie back. "You'll do better if we keep that leg above the rest of your body as much as possible."

"John?" Sherlock asked quietly. "Will you... talk to me?"

John grinned. "I'm talking to you right now."

"Yes, but... will you tell me... stories?"

"What kind of stories?"

"Ones about you. I want to know _everything_ about you."

John looked down, his cheeks flushed. "All right. Anything for you, my dearest one."

They spent the afternoon under the trees. John told Sherlock stories about his childhood, his time as a soldier, his injury, and his recovery. Sherlock listened raptly, occasionally asking a question. He was particularly fascinated by the stories about the mischief John had got up to with Mike when they were children. He felt himself falling more and more in love with John with each passing moment.

Finally, John seemed to run out of stories. He grinned sheepishly at Sherlock. "Will you tell me one about you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock felt his cheeks grow hot. "All right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John sings a 12th century love song to Sherlock in this chapter.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

Sherlock looked up at John, his cheeks turning pink. John wanted to know everything about Sherlock, just as much as Sherlock seemed to want to know about John.

Sherlock haltingly began to tell John about his life before they met. He told John about raising and training Apollo and about learning to play his vielle. John was captivated. His heart ached with love for the incredible, beautiful young man lying in front of him.

When Sherlock had finished talking, John took Sherlock's hand in his. He pulled it to his mouth and kissed it. "Thank you."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "For what?"

"For telling me about yourself. I get the feeling you don't do that with other people very often."

Sherlock looked into John's eyes. "No, I don't," he said quietly.

 John leaned down and kissed Sherlock lightly on the mouth. He sat back up.

Sherlock was looking intently at John. "Thank you," he said, "For caring for me and helping me. I could never have gotten this far without you."

John's voice was tight. "It's my pleasure. I'd do anything for you, dear heart."

"You are _everything_ to me, John. I love you more than I can say." Sherlock grasped John's shirt and pulled him down. He kissed John deeply. John moaned against Sherlock's mouth, pushing his fingers into his hair. After a few minutes, John pushed back reluctantly and sat up.

Sherlock pushed up onto his elbows, his brow furrowed. "John? Why did you stop?"

"You're exhausted and in pain, my love. I don't want you to think I... expect anything from you."

Sherlock grabbed John's shirt again. "John, I want you," he pleaded. "Kiss me. _Please_."

John groaned. " _Sherlock_." He leaned down and kissed him again.

Sherlock was pulling at John's shirt. John let him take it off him and toss it aside before reclaiming his mouth.

John pulled at Sherlock's breeches, untying them and pushing them down. He palmed Sherlock's cock through his underclothes. Sherlock gasped against John's mouth. He was already hard.

John broke the kiss and ducked down, nuzzling against Sherlock's groin. Sherlock gasped again. " _John!_ " he cried.

John sat up a little. Sherlock made a little whining noise. John put a finger against Sherlock's mouth. "Shh, Darling, not too loud. It might not be safe to make too much noise."

Sherlock nodded helplessly, a whimper escaping him as John ducked back down. John shoved Sherlock's shirt up and freed him from his underclothes. He grasped Sherlock's cock and ran his tongue up the entire length. Sherlock choked back his cry of pleasure, struggling to keep quiet. John showed no mercy, taking Sherlock's cock into his mouth and stroking with his tongue.

Sherlock shuddered and panted, whimpering quietly with the effort of keeping himself from crying out. After several minutes, Sherlock was trying to speak. "J-John... so... so... clo-close..."

Sherlock's hands found their way into John's hair and clutched at it. John moaned softly around Sherlock, and that put Sherlock over the edge. His body tensed up as he came in John's mouth, gasping for air and struggling desperately to be quiet.

When Sherlock relaxed, John sat up and fumbled at his own breeches, his neglected cock aching with need. He freed it, grasping it and moaning quietly in relief. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. After just a moment, John realized that Sherlock was pulling at his arm and saying, "John, John, let me."

John looked down at him and had to stifle a moan. Sherlock was gorgeously debauched. His clothes were pulled halfway off, his cheeks were flushed, and his hair was mussed. His eyes burned into John's. "Please, John."

"You want to help, do you?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Give me your hand."

Sherlock immediately held his hand out. John took it and put it in front of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Lick it."

Sherlock whimpered and did as John said. John took Sherlock's hand down and wrapped it around his cock. He kept his own hand on top of Sherlock's and began to stroke. Sherlock gazed up at him, his mouth slightly open, his breathing still heavy.

John let his eyes close and his head drop back. He pushed his hips up, thrusting into Sherlock's hand to meet his strokes. " _Sherlock_ ," he moaned quietly. Sherlock's hand tightened. John sped up his thrusts. "Yes, Sweetheart, _just like that_."

Sherlock squeezed tighter. "Let me see, John. _Show me_."

John was lost. He struggled to stay quiet as he came over Sherlock's hand. He gasped for breath and collapsed on the ground next to Sherlock.

He drifted for a few minutes before opening his eyes. Sherlock was leaning over him. He put his clean hand in John's hair and kissed him tenderly. John smiled. "I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock stroked John's hair. After a few more minutes, John sat up. Sherlock wiped his hand off and they both put their clothes right. Dusk was approaching, and the air grew cooler.

John spoke tentatively. "It will be dark soon, Sweetheart. Do you want to walk the rest of the way tonight, or do you want to rest here another day?"

"I'll be all right, John. We can go tonight. I have to admit I'm looking forward to meeting Mike." Sherlock smiled sheepishly at John.

John grinned at Sherlock. Then his expression sobered. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to stay another day."

Sherlock put his hand on John's cheek. "I want to go on. It'll be all right."

John nodded. "I'll get you some supper first." Sherlock sat up and gave John's cloak back to him. They ate quietly as darkness fell. John repacked their supplies.

They made slow progress, stopping at the top of each hill to let Sherlock rest. John watched as Sherlock's pain steadily increased. Even in the dim moonlight he could see that Sherlock was going grey with it.

At last they approached Mike's farm. "There's the barn, Sherlock. You'll be safer if we stop there. I'll go on to the house before dawn to talk to Mike about the horses."

"All right." Sherlock's voice sounded pinched.  John led Sherlock into the barn.

The horses and Mike's cow stirred at the intrusion. John found a safe spot in Mike's hay for Sherlock to lie down. He gave him some water and propped his leg up. It was dreadfully swollen again. He bent down and gently held Sherlock, stroking his hair and kissing the top of his head. "You did it, my love. It'll be better now."

John's heart was aching for Sherlock. He kept stroking his hair, singing quietly to him until he slept.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock woke when John got up. It was still dark. When John saw Sherlock looking at him in the dim light, he knelt down and pushed Sherlock's hair back from his forehead. "How are you feeling, my darling?"

Sherlock took John's hand in both of his. "Better."

"Go back to sleep, my love. I'm going up to the house. I want to catch Mike before he stumbles on us out here when he comes to do his chores."

"All right, John." Sherlock kissed John's hand. John leaned down and kissed Sherlock's forehead. He stood up and left quietly.

Sherlock listened to his footsteps receding. The horses and cow stirred at John's movements. Sherlock knew that John might be gone for some time. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep again.

"Sherlock." John was kneeling over him, his hand on Sherlock's arm. Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows. The sun was coming up. "You can come to the house now. Mike is making breakfast. It's safe; no one else is here."

Sherlock got to his feet, brushing hay off of his clothes and fussing with his hair. John grinned at him. "Come on."

John stopped on their way out of the barn to pick up a bucket full of milk. "Told Mike I'd milk the cow since I was coming out. After we eat I'll help him with the horses."

Sherlock hadn't been able to see the house in the dark. Now that the sun was up, he could see that Mike's house was much like John's. As they approached the door, Mike opened it. "Come in, come in! It's an honour to meet you, sir."

"The honour is mine. Please, call me Sherlock."

"Please have a seat, Sherlock." Mike gestured toward the table. Sherlock and John sat on the chairs. Mike pulled up a small bench for himself.

Mike gave them bread, salted pork, and milk to eat. "John's told me about your situation, Sherlock. I'm happy to help in any way I can. I want you to make yourself as comfortable as possible here. John can help me with the horses. It'll be quiet here so you can rest."

"Thank you, Mike. But I don't want to cause you any trouble."

"Don't you worry about that. It's no trouble at all."

They soon finished eating. Mike insisted that Sherlock lie down on his bed. Sherlock complied, but stayed on top of the coverlet, using his cloak as a blanket. It felt wonderful to be in a bed again. John and Mike went to the barn.

Sherlock's heart ached. He was missing the way John consistently showed him affection when they were alone. He knew that John couldn't call him anything but Sherlock, couldn't stroke his hair, and couldn't kiss him when other people were around. He knew it in his mind, but his heart didn't understand. He closed his eyes.

It was midday when John and Mike returned from exercising and caring for the horses. Sherlock propped himself up on Mike's bed.

"How are you feeling, there, Sherlock?" Mike asked cheerfully.

"Much better, thank you." Sherlock smiled at him genuinely. He wasn't used to liking other people, but Mike was easy to like. And John's regard for him was the best possible endorsement anyone could have.

"John and I have been working out how to get you two safely out of the country," Mike said. "I'm going to visit my sister in the village this afternoon. Her husband is about your height. I'll get some of his spare clothes for you."

Sherlock looked at John. He knew John could see the concern in his eyes. "I've known Molly and Gregory my whole life, Sherlock. We can trust them." John nodded encouragingly.

Sherlock looked at Mike again.

"I'm going to drive you to the port in my wagon. We can leave tonight. I'll come straight back. No one else will know."

Sherlock shook his head insistently. "No. No, that puts you at risk. It's horrible enough that I've endangered John. I won't endanger you, too."

Mike interrupted. "It's the best chance, Sherlock. For you _and John_. Let me do this for you. _For John_." Mike stepped closer to Sherlock. "It's your best chance of keeping him safe."

Sherlock looked at John. John's head was down. "John? What should we do?" Sherlock asked.

John lifted his head. "I hate for Mike to take the risk," he said soberly. "But he's right. I don't see any other way to get you out."

Sherlock turned back to Mike.

Mike said, "John has been my closest friend since we were children. I hate to see him go." Mike looked at John, though he was still speaking to Sherlock. "But there's a spark in his eye now. A spark I haven't seen in him since... well. A long time ago." John ducked his head. "If going with you will keep it there, then I'll do anything it takes to make that happen."

John put his hand over his mouth. Sherlock could see that he was holding back tears. Sherlock looked at Mike again. His voice was tight. "All right. But please, be careful."

Mike put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I will."

The three men sat down for dinner. Mike and John reminisced about some of the mischief they'd gotten into when they were young. Mike seemed to be deliberately bringing up stories that John found a bit embarrassing, grinning conspiratorially at Sherlock when John objected. Several times, Sherlock had to remind himself to eat because he was so enraptured by John.

Mike rode out as soon as dinner was cleared up, promising to return by dusk. Sherlock had insisted that Mike take a piece of gold to Molly and Greg as payment for the clothes. John went outside to see him off. When Mike had gone, John came back inside, barred the door, and sat at the table next to Sherlock. He took Sherlock's hand and said, "Don't worry about Mike. He's tougher than he looks, and he won't give anything away."

Sherlock looked down at their joined hands. It was a relief to feel John's skin against his again.

John leaned into Sherlock's space. Sherlock's heart began beating faster. John was right next to Sherlock's ear. "I was glad to see Mike," he whispered. "But I have to admit that part of me couldn't wait for him to leave." Sherlock's breath caught.

John dropped his voice even lower. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about doing _this_." He brought his other hand up and trailed his fingers down Sherlock's neck. Sherlock gasped, tilting his head to give John better access. John kissed Sherlock's neck.

 _"John_ ," Sherlock whimpered.

John licked, kissed, and nipped at Sherlock's neck. Sherlock let go of John's hand so he could put both arms around him and pull him closer.

John moaned against Sherlock's neck. "Oh, my darling." Sherlock pulled John tightly against him. John overbalanced, sliding off his chair and stumbling onto his feet. Sherlock took advantage. He pushed his chair back from the table with his good leg and dragged John directly in front of him. Then he pulled him down into a scorching kiss.

John clutched at Sherlock's shirt, still unsteady on his feet. He took a half step back and leaned against the table, breathing heavily.

Sherlock looked up at John. "Do you want to know what _I_ couldn't stop thinking about doing?"

John was trembling now. His eyes fluttered shut. " _Yes_."

Sherlock waited for John to open his eyes again. Then he grabbed John's hips. John gasped. Sherlock looked into his eyes and leaned forward, smiling wolfishly when he saw John's eyes widen. " _This_."

Sherlock leaned in even closer, moving his hands to the laces on John's breeches. John whimpered. Sherlock went all the way in, nuzzling up against the front of John's breeches as he began untying them. He smiled again when he felt that John was already fully hard.

John made a choked-off cry and shuddered. Sherlock pressed John's hips securely against the table to keep him steady. He pulled John's breeches down just far enough. He pulled John's shirt up out of the way and put his hand down the front of John's underclothes and around his cock.

John cried out. " _Sherlock_!"

Sherlock carefully pulled John's cock out of his underclothes. He grasped it firmly and licked the head. John made a keening noise above him. Sherlock took the head into his mouth.

John whimpered again. "Oh, God, oh, _darling_."

Sherlock took him farther in and stroked the underside of his cock with his tongue. John gripped the edge of the table with one hand. He moaned, bending forward over Sherlock. He put his other hand on the back of Sherlock's head, his fingers tangling in Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock moaned around John, causing John to cry out and tighten his hand in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock moaned again when John started guiding his head up and down. He let John control his movements, giving himself over. He slid one hand around to grip John's arse.

John was moaning and shuddering. He was trying to speak. "Sh-Sherlock, I'm going to..."

Sherlock clutched John's arse tightly as John got even harder. John tugged on Sherlock's hair, making Sherlock groan loudly as John started to come. John cried out helplessly.

When John relaxed, Sherlock pulled back and looked at him. John was completely wrecked. He let go of Sherlock's hair and dropped to his knees, still panting. He put his hands on Sherlock's knees and let his head fall down between his upper arms as he tried to catch his breath.

Sherlock untied his own breeches and tipped his head back, sighing in relief as he took himself in hand. The ache in his jaw only increased his arousal because it was a reminder of what he and John had just done.

John's hands tightened on Sherlock's knees. Then John pushed his hands up Sherlock's thighs. He put one hand over Sherlock's.

Sherlock looked down at John. John's eyes burned into his. Sherlock whined at the sight of John on his knees in front of him.

John pulled Sherlock's hand away from his cock. Sherlock let out a desperate little cry. Then John took hold of him. Sherlock gasped.

"Oh, my love, let me, _please_." John leaned forward. Sherlock watched, panting, as John took him into his mouth. He moaned, his head falling back again. Sherlock was lost in pleasure. He rested one hand on John's head, stroking at his hair."John, _John_ , I'm - oh! - close," he whimpered.

John worked him harder. Sherlock's whole body tensed up as he spent himself. He then sagged against the chair, still running his fingers through John's hair.

John released Sherlock and unsteadily pulled himself back into his own chair. He folded his arms on the table and dropped his head onto them. He groaned quietly.

After a several minutes, Sherlock reluctantly put his clothes right and sat up straighter. He dragged his chair closer to the table and put his hand on John's shoulder.

John turned his head to look at Sherlock. He lifted his arm and pushed Sherlock's hair back from his forehead. "I love you, dear heart."

Sherlock captured John's hand and kissed it. "My John. I love you, too."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John went back to the barn to see if he could make himself useful while they waited for Mike. He'd insisted that Sherlock rest on Mike's bed while John worked. He decided to muck out the horses' stalls. When he'd finished, he walked outside. The sun had dropped low in the sky.

John went back to the house. He quietly put together some food for supper while Sherlock watched. When he was done, dusk was falling. He went outside to wait for Mike, planning to take care of his horse for him.

After several minutes, Mike rode in. He dismounted and hugged John. "It's all settled. I've got the clothes. We can leave after supper."

"How are Molly and Greg?"

"Lovely as always. They didn't want to take the gold piece, but I told them you'd have my head if they didn't."

John grinned.

Mike's expression sobered. "Don't forget what I said this morning. I won't sell your house to anyone until autumn at the earliest. If you need to come back -"

John interrupted. "I won't. I'll miss you terribly, but I won't be coming back."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I don't know. But I am." He smiled and put his hands on Mike's shoulders. "More than I've ever been sure about anything."

Mike shook his head. "I won't pretend to understand, but if this makes you smile like that, I'll help you any way I can."

John smiled even more brightly and pulled Mike into a tight hug. "You're amazing, Mike. I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help." His voice started to break. "I'll never forget it."

Mike pushed John back. "Stop that, now! You'll have me crying like a baby!"

John snickered. His eyes were wet. "Go on to the house, then. I'll put your horse up. And I'll milk the cow while I'm there. Supper's on the table."

John took the horse in and rubbed it down. He milked the cow. As he approached the house, he could hear Sherlock laughing. _Oh God_ , he thought. _Mike must be telling yet another embarrassing story about me._ Then he smiled. _It's worth it to hear Sherlock laugh like that._ He braced himself as he opened the door.

He heard Mike saying, "So John comes running out of the barn wearing nothing but a - oh, there you are! Sit down and we'll eat."

Mike started turning red from stifling his laughter. Sherlock had his hand over his mouth. His shoulders were shaking and he wasn't looking at John.

John put the pail of milk down, dropped into his chair, and crossed his arms. "I'm glad you two are enjoying yourselves in here."

Sherlock lost the battle. He doubled over and laughed out loud. Mike gave up and giggled. "Don't be angry, John!"

John rolled his eyes and shoved Mike lightly. "Let's eat now, please."

Sherlock had already changed his clothes. Mike had brought a cloak and boots as well. Greg's clothes were worn and a bit baggy on Sherlock's lean frame, but they would do.

After supper was cleared up, Mike insisted on restocking their food supply. Sherlock tried to give Mike some gold, but Mike emphatically refused, as John had already given him almost all of his belongings.

Mike and John went to the barn to ready the wagon. They put hay in it for Sherlock so he could lie down. And so he could hide in it if need be. They drove up to the house and helped Sherlock get settled in the wagon. He laid down, wrapped in his cloak with his hood up, half covered by the hay. John climbed into the front of the wagon next to Mike.

He and Mike talked quietly to pass the time as they drove. The village was quiet as they passed by in the dark. They drove on toward the sea. After a couple of hours, John could smell the salt in the air. They stopped to bury Sherlock's clothes in the forest.

Mike shook his head. "It's a damn shame to destroy these fine things."

"I know," John said quietly. "But we can't risk the King's men finding them anywhere near you."

They drove on until they approached the port. It wasn't entirely quiet. There was noise and light spilling out of an inn on the main road. They drove on until they found a quiet side street where they could stop. John climbed into the back of the wagon. Sherlock sat up slowly. He'd been sleeping.

John crouched down next to him. "How are you feeling?"

Sherlock smiled at him. "Fine."

John helped Sherlock get out of the wagon. He turned to Mike. "Thank you, Mike. We couldn't have done this without you."

Mike didn't say anything yet. He hugged John for a long time. "John, we've been best friends our whole lives. I'm not sure how I'll go on without you, but I am sure that I'll never forget you."

John's voice was quiet and choked. "I'll never forget you, either."

Mike turned to Sherlock and pulled him into what looked like a bone-crushing hug. John's heart leapt. He smiled through his tears at the shocked look on Sherlock's face.

"You take care of our John, now," Mike said gruffly. He released Sherlock with an emphatic pat on his back.

Sherlock wobbled a bit. "I intend to." He smiled sheepishly. "Thank you, Mike. I'll always remember your kindness and generosity."

"Think nothing of it."

John said, "Please tell Molly and Greg how thankful we are for their assistance."

Mike put his hand on John's shoulder. "I will. And I've explained to them the story we agreed on about you moving to Scotland for a fresh start. Only Molly, Greg, and I know the truth." He pulled John into another long hug. "You take care of yourselves." Mike's eyes were wet.

John nodded, trying to hold back his tears.

Mike got back into the wagon. He looked back and waved as he drove away. John and Sherlock silently watched until he was out of sight.

John dropped his head. Sherlock's arms were around him. "I'm so sorry, John."

"It's all right." John reluctantly pulled out of the hug and wiped the tears off his face. "Let's find a spot to wait for morning."

"All right." Sherlock's voice was weak.

They found a spot on the side street where they could sit against a wall. John insisted that Sherlock use the fur coverlet as a cushion.

John spoke quietly. "We can't use your real name here, darling. If anyone hears it, they could tell the King's men."

"Yes, I think I'll be Henry again."

John grinned, thinking of the story Sherlock had told him when they first met.

"Perfect, my love. We can use the story about you and the lord's wife. And your surname?"

"Baker."

"Henry Baker, musician. Hobbies include horse training and gentry cuckolding. I can remember that."

Sherlock sniggered. "And why do we travel together?"

John continued, "We met in a pub and discovered we were both headed the same direction. We teamed up for safety and to save money on lodging. When you took a fall and hurt your leg, I agreed to help you in exchange for you paying my way."

"Good." Sherlock nodded.

"Where are you headed, Henry?"

Sherlock looked at John.

"Have to get used to calling you that." John smiled ruefully.

"Hamburg."

"Why?"

"My brother is a musician as well. He's employed in Hamburg. I'm hoping to get his assistance in finding new employment."

"What's your brother's name?"

Sherlock smirked. "James. Where are _you_ going?"

"I'm looking for adventure after having been laid up with my injury. My mother had family in Wittenberg. I thought I'd start by seeking them out and then see where life takes me."

Sherlock nodded and looked down.

John spoke even more quietly. "It's possible you may hear me having to tell someone I'm only helping you for your money." He leaned toward Sherlock a little. " _Don't believe a word of it if you do_. You hear me, darling?"

Sherlock nodded.

"We're going to make it, Sweetheart."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

"Why don't you close your eyes now, Honey? It's still a couple of hours before dawn."

Sherlock nodded weakly.

"What's wrong, my love?"

Sherlock dropped his head lower. "It's nothing."

John's voice was gentle. "Doesn't look like nothing to me."

Sherlock kept his head down. "I'm being foolish."

"What do you think you're being foolish about?"

Sherlock paused. The he lifted his head. "I miss you."

John's brow furrowed. "I'm right here, darling."

"I know. That's why it's foolish."

John leaned a tiny bit closer. "I think I understand, though, because it hurts me when I can't touch you." His eyes searched Sherlock's. "It hurts when I can't kiss you. Is that what you mean, Sweetheart?"

Sherlock looked into John's deep blue eyes. His heart felt like it would burst. No one had ever understood him the way John did. " _Yes_." He whispered. "And... it hurts when you have to just call me Sherlock. It'll be even worse when you have to call me Henry."

" _I know_ , my love. It hurts me, too."

Sherlock looked down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John start to reach out to him, then pull his hand back. The ache in Sherlock's heart surged.

John's voice was tight. "I wish we didn't have to hide. But if anyone realizes the.... nature of our relationship, they could kill us. _Burn_ us. I won't let that happen to you."

John looked away, sighed, and rubbed his hand over his face. After a moment he turned back to Sherlock. "Let's make a signal, my dearest."

Sherlock lifted his head. "Signal?"

"Yes," John said, his expression brightening a little. "A gesture or code word that I can use to tell you I love you. And that you can use to tell me."

Sherlock looked into John's eyes again. "I'd like that... very much."

"Then it's settled. We just need to decide what our signal is."

Sherlock looked down at his own hands. He flexed his fingers. He looked back up at John. "The vein in the third finger leads to the heart. That's why women wear their wedding rings on it."

John smiled broadly. "I'll tap it with my thumb." He held his left hand up. "I'll tap my thumb against my third finger. Three times. I," tap, "love," tap, "you," tap.

Sherlock grinned at John. "Yes." The held up his left hand. He tapped his third finger three times. "I love you, John."

John's smile was tender now.  "Close your eyes now, my darling. You should rest while you can."

"All right, John. What about you?"

"I'll rest my eyes a little." John grinned at Sherlock. "Now, close those gorgeous eyes for me."

Sherlock did as John said. When he opened his eyes again, the first signs of dawn were appearing. His body was stiff and sore from sleeping against the wall. And sleeping upright hadn't done his leg any favours. He stretched a little, rubbing at his neck.

John stirred next to him. He made a quiet little groan. Sherlock watched him stretch slightly and open his eyes. John smiled when he saw Sherlock looking at him. He spoke very softly. "Good morning, beautiful."

Sherlock smiled shyly. He felt his cheeks flush hot. "Good morning, my John."

They ate breakfast where they were. Afterward, John asked Sherlock for enough gold to book a crossing to the continent. He helped Sherlock stand up. They walked toward the shore. Sherlock kept his hood up.

The closer they got to the shore, the busier the streets became. John did his best to keep Sherlock from being jostled by the traffic. When they were close to the ships, John found a corner where Sherlock could wait while he looked for a ship that could take them across the channel.

Sherlock leaned against the wall. He peered out from beneath his hood to watch John walk away. After John was out of sight, Sherlock watched the crowd. He was careful to keep his face in the shadow of his hood and avoid making eye contact with anyone. He passed the time waiting for John by observing various people to see how much he could learn about them just by watching and listening.

He was watching a young boy throw dirt clods at the birds when two king's guards came around the corner. Sherlock was seized by terror, his heart suddenly pounding. He tipped his head slightly lower, hiding his face further but still watching.

The two guards were absentmindedly looking through the crowd. As they got closer, Sherlock began to be able to hear what they were saying to each other. He lowered his head another inch, obscuring his face completely.

"I just don't know what the point is. He's been gone a week already. He'll have crossed by now. Or he went north instead."

The second guard's voice was gruff. "There doesn't have to be a point, Anderson. Our job is to look for the little shit, not to think."

The first guard - Anderson - scoffed. "This is a waste of time."

The guards were just a few feet away now. Sherlock was trembling, his eyes squeezed shut as he willed John not to return while the guards were there.

The second guard grumbled, "Why does it matter, as long as you're getting paid? I'm sick of listening to your whining."

Anderson scoffed again.

The guards kept walking. As their voices faded, Sherlock began to tilt his head up slightly so he could track them. The guards went around the next corner. Sherlock sagged in relief. He put his trembling hands to his face and tried to control his breathing. He was immensely thankful that John hadn't returned while the guards were there.

Sherlock was beginning to calm when John reappeared. He put his arms down.

John leaned casually against the wall near Sherlock. "I've found a ship. We leave in an hour. We're going to be all right, Henry."

Sherlock turned his head so he could see John's face. John's smile vanished as he saw Sherlock's expression. " _Oh my God, what happened?_ "

"Nothing, nothing!" Sherlock tried to reassure him. "Two guards came by, but they didn't notice me."

John was squeezing his eyes shut. " _I never should have left you alone_."

"No, John, I was so thankful you weren't anywhere near those guards!" Sherlock leaned a tiny bit closer to John. " _Look at me_." John opened his eyes. Sherlock could see the fear in them. "I'm fine. _I'm fine_. We're going to make it, just as you said. Now tell me about the ship."

Sherlock could see John trying to calm himself. He wanted nothing more than to take John into his arms. His heart, and even his arms, ached with need. He closed his eyes.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

"All right," John said.

Sherlock opened his gorgeous eyes. John could still see fear in them. John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's one of the smaller ships. It's French, returning to the continent. The crew is small, and most of them don't speak English."

"Perfect, John." Sherlock lowered his voice to a whisper. "You're incredible."

John's cheeks flushed hot. He looked away. "If you're ready, I'll take you to the ship."

Sherlock took hold of his crutches. "Let's go."

John didn't move yet. He waited until Sherlock looked at him questioningly. He put his left hand up to his face and scratched a nonexistent itch on his forehead. As he pulled his hand away, he paused to tap his third finger with his thumb. Three times. Sherlock's face broke into a brilliant smile.

John grinned. He looked down at Sherlock's hand. Tap, tap, tap. John's heart swelled. He locked eyes with Sherlock, then stepped forward.

He led Sherlock through the crowd, trying to keep people from bumping him. He found the ship and they boarded. The ship was swaying slightly in the water. It felt very strange to walk on the deck as it moved under him. He had to grab the rail to stay upright a couple of times. He found a relatively quiet spot for Sherlock to sit behind a large coil of rope. He made sure Sherlock was not visible from the shore. John stood at the rail and looked out over the docks.  After several minutes he turned to Sherlock. "Have you traveled on a ship before?"

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, several times. I'll tell you about it when we're somewhere quieter." 

John knew he really meant somewhere they couldn't be overheard talking about his life as a prince. "I've never been on a ship before, but I've heard it can make one sick."

"Indeed. You did well to choose a spot by the railing."

John winced. _Not looking forward to that_. He looked out over the crowd. The crewmen were making their final preparations for the passage, shouting at each other in French. John watched, fascinated by how well they worked together. He looked at Sherlock again. "I wish I knew what they were saying."

Sherlock laughed. "Nothing that can be repeated in respectable company."

John turned fully to face Sherlock. "You can understand them?"

"Of course. In... my former profession... it was necessary to be able to communicate in several languages."

John was amazed yet again with Sherlock's abilities. "Which languages can you speak?"

Sherlock looked upward, thinking. "Well, English of course. French. Welsh. Greek and Latin. Andalusian Arabic, German, Dutch."

John was gaping at Sherlock.

"That's... you're... remarkable."

Sherlock looked down, grinning sheepishly. "It's nothing. My brother's the one with the gift for languages."

John just shook his head in wonder. How could he be lucky enough to be with this incredible young man? He looked back out over the dock. His heart stopped. Two of the King's men were at the other end of the dock. John's hands gripped the rail tightly. _Oh God, please, no_.  He looked at the crew. _Cast off, cast off now!_ The crewmen were beginning to unmoor the ship. _Please, please, hurry!_

The guards were walking toward the ship. The crew was slowly releasing the ship from the dock. John squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He opened them again. The guards were still walking toward the ship, but the crew was finishing their work. The gap between the ship and the dock began to widen. John's heart was hammering inside his chest as he watched. The guards kept walking, passing the dock where the ship had been moored. They continued on. John slumped against the rail, trying to concentrate on breathing. As he began to calm, he realized that his hands were cramping from clutching at the rail. He released his grip and stretched his trembling fingers.

John stepped back from the rail. Sherlock spoke quietly to him. "Are they gone?"

John turned to face him. Sherlock was pale with fear. John tried to calm himself. "Yes, they're moving down the dock. I didn't think you could see the dock from there."

"I can't. But I can see you."

John moved closer to Sherlock. "We're away. They aren't following."

Sherlock stared up at him. "We're going to be all right, John."

John smiled at him. "Yes." He looked pointedly down at his own left hand. Sherlock's gaze followed his. Tap, tap, tap. Sherlock looked back up into John's eyes, a relieved smile breaking over his face. John looked down at Sherlock's hand and saw Sherlock return his signal.

John looked into Sherlock's eyes. The ship tilted dramatically to the port side. John lost his footing and stumbled back against the rail, clutching at it.

Sherlock's eyes widened. " _John!_ "

John grinned at him. "I'm fine. Shouldn't have let go of the rail." Sherlock shook his head and chuckled a little.

The ship made its way into the channel. John was amazed by the way the land shrank behind them, the way the ship moved through the waves, and the way the crew worked at the rigging. He was thoroughly enjoying the experience. Until he wasn't. Nausea suddenly crashed over him. John vomited over the rail repeatedly, embarrassed at doing so in front of Sherlock. He held onto the rail, putting his head down on his arms between bouts of illness.

He turned his head to check on Sherlock. Sherlock was still seated, and hadn't been sick. Yet. John looked around and saw that many of the other passengers were just as sick as he. As he watched, a man ran to the rail to join the others.

John looked at Sherlock again. He saw Sherlock picking his crutches up and moving to stand. John started to help him, but another bout of nausea hit him and he had to return to the rail.

Then Sherlock was at the rail a couple of feet away from him. He hadn't been sick, but he looked pale. "You all right?" John asked him. Sherlock nodded slowly and leaned against the rail.

John was still retching, but had long since stopped bringing anything up. He slid down into a heap on the deck. Sherlock was leaning down over him, holding his upper arm. "John!"

John put his hand up toward Sherlock, waving it in an attempt to tell Sherlock not to worry about him.

Sherlock returned to the rail, finally succumbing to illness himself.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

After what must have been an hour at the rail, Sherlock was finally confident that he didn't have anything else to bring up. He allowed himself to stumble back and sit down. He slumped forward. Standing at the rail hadn't done his leg any favours. It throbbed mercilessly. After a moment, Sherlock lifted his head to check on John. John was still crumpled on the deck. Sherlock wanted to help him, but was in no position to be able to. He let his head drop back down.

Hours passed. Sherlock's body began to adjust to the motion of the ship. When he felt strong enough, he stood slowly and went to John. John was curled up on the deck, pale and sweating. His eyes were closed. Sherlock bent down carefully and put his hand on John's back. John opened his eyes. Sherlock spoke gently to him. "Come sit with me."

John blinked and groaned. "Can't. I'm dying."

Sherlock huffed out a breath. "We'll be back on land by nightfall. I think you'll last long enough to make it there. Come sit with me, John. You'll be a little more comfortable."

John groaned again. He wiped ineffectually at his sweaty brow. "Ugh. I'm too disgusting to sit with you."

"I'll be the judge of that." Sherlock grabbed John's arm and pulled.

John slowly rose up and stumbled toward him. Sherlock sat back down and helped John prop himself up next to Sherlock. John looked quite grey.

John closed his eyes and sagged. Sherlock let his eyes close as well. More hours passed. Sherlock opened his eyes. He looked out over the water. He sat up straighter. Land. Sherlock could see the port ahead. Thank God. The trip was almost over.

"John."

"Mmmm?"

"Open your eyes."

John opened his eyes slowly, blinking at Sherlock.

Sherlock pointed across the water. "Look."

John sat up and leaned forward. He stared at the port for a moment before turning back to Sherlock. He gave Sherlock a weak half-smile. "Oh, thank God. I may live after all."

Sherlock returned the half-smile. He and John silently watched the land getting closer. When they were close enough to see people moving around, John dragged himself up with a groan and went to the railing. Sherlock watched John's face as he watched the crew on the ship and the dock workers. Under the pallor of his seasickness, Sherlock could see a hint of the beautiful expression of wonder John had worn when they first set sail. He smiled faintly.

At last, the ship was docked. Sherlock and John disembarked on wobbly legs. The sun was low in the sky. Their plan was to spend the night in an inn and buy a horse and a small wagon in the morning.

John found a spot where Sherlock could wait while John arranged a room. John stood next to Sherlock. He didn't move to leave. In fact, he seemed rooted to the spot.

Sherlock looked at him. "John?"

John let out a shaky breath. "I know. I need to go find a room. But I'm so worried about leaving you alone that I can't seem to walk away from you."

" _John_..."

"I know! I know. I need to get the room alone so you'll be seen by the smallest possible number of people and not have to talk to anyone." He looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock could see his fear. "But I'm so scared of losing you."

"Oh, John. I know." Sherlock tried to give him a reassuring smile. "Look, the sooner you go get the room, the sooner I'll be out of sight."

John returned the smile, but it didn't touch his eyes. "You're right. Of course, you're right." John took a deep breath.

"John." Sherlock nodded his head slightly at his own hand. John looked. Sherlock tapped out their signal. John looked back up. This time his smile reached his eyes. Sherlock looked at John's hand. He smiled when John gave the signal in return. "Go on, John. I'll be here waiting for you."

John locked eyes with Sherlock. He nodded once and, drawing in a deep breath, turned and walked away.

Sherlock watched him until he disappeared from sight. He waited, watching people walk by in the fading light.

When John came back into sight, Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief. He could see John do the same. John walked up alongside Sherlock. "I've got a room. Come with me."

Sherlock nodded at him and followed him through the streets, still hiding his face under his hood.

John spoke quietly to him. "I'll walk in ahead of you and talk to the innkeeper to distract him. You can go straight through to the back. It's the third room on the left."

Sherlock nodded silently. They approached the inn. Sherlock moved off to the side as John went in. Sherlock counted out sixty seconds and approached the door. He entered quietly, keeping his hood low and moving directly to the back. He ducked into the hall and entered the third door on the left. The room was small, containing two single beds and a small table. There was a window high on the wall. Sherlock lit the candle on the table, as the sunlight was fading away rapidly. He sat down on the bed on the right. He propped his aching leg up, leaned against the wall, and sighed in relief.

Several minutes later, Sherlock heard heavy footsteps outside the door. They stopped directly outside. Sherlock instinctively put his hand on his knife.

The door opened slowly. John walked in, lugging a bucket of water. Sherlock let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and let his hand drop away from his knife. John grinned at Sherlock, set the bucket down, and went back out into the hall to pick up a second bucket of water.

John set the second bucket down. "I convinced the innkeeper to let us have these. Or, I should say, a generous tip convinced him. I thought we might like to have good wash after that voyage."

"Thank you, John. That sounds wonderful."

"But first, we need to drink some water. I'm afraid we're both rather badly dehydrated." John barred the door and set his pack down. He pulled out their drinking water and some flatbread. He handed Sherlock's water skin to him. "Slowly. Just a sip at a time. And eat this," he said, handing him a piece of flatbread. " _Slowly_."

Sherlock nodded and took a sip of water. John slumped down onto the other bed and took a sip himself. They sat quietly for a long time, slowly eating and drinking. The sunlight faded away completely, leaving the candle as their only source of light.

Sherlock sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. He stretched his back and started undressing.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John watched as Sherlock stripped down to his underclothes and began washing. The candlelight played across Sherlock's body, catching in the droplets of water on his chest.

John sighed. "My darling, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." Sherlock looked down, smiling shyly. John shook his head slowly. "The seasickness must have made me weaker than I thought."

Sherlock looked up. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm still over here. With you looking so gorgeous over there." John leaned forward. " _The things I would do to you if I had any strength_."

Sherlock leaned forward in return. His eyes were full of heat and mischief. "The things you would do to me? What about the things I would do to _you_ , hmm? Just you wait until this injury heals." He deepened his voice. "You have _no idea_ how much trouble you'll be in when this leg can bear weight again."

John moaned out loud before he could stop himself.

Sherlock smiled wickedly. He put his finger against his lips. " _Shhh_. Don't let anyone but me hear you make that lovely sound."

John stared at him helplessly.

Sherlock continued his washing. He stripped off his underclothes and finished up. He opened his pack and dressed in clean underclothes and his nightshirt. He laid back into bed. He looked at John and grinned. "Your turn."

John grinned back. "All right." He stood up slowly and stripped down completely. He began washing himself.

Sherlock was staring unabashedly. "Oh, John. You are glorious."

John blushed. He looked down and kept washing. When he was finished, he put on clean underclothes and a fresh shirt. He blew out the candle and started getting into his own bed.

"John, come lie down with me," Sherlock said quietly.

"Sherlock... I wish I could, but I'm dead on my feet."

"So am I, John. Just come sleep here with me. I want to hold you."

John smiled and went to Sherlock. He slid into bed with him and curled up at Sherlock's side, with his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock was warm and pliant with sleepiness. John put his right hand across Sherlock's body and took Sherlock's left hand. He twined their fingers together and rested them against Sherlock's belly. He whispered, "I love you, Sweetheart."

Sherlock put his right arm around John's shoulders. "My John. I love you more than I can say."

John sighed contentedly at the delicious feeling of being clean, in a real bed, being held close by his love. They both closed their eyes and were asleep within minutes.

John woke before dawn. He no longer felt sick. His strength was returning. And he was ravenously hungry.

He slipped out of bed, lit the candle, and retrieved their food supply and their water. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Sherlock's forehead, smoothing his hair back. Sherlock opened his eyes. John stroked his hair again. "Good morning, dear heart."

Sherlock smiled up at John sleepily. "My John," he whispered.

John leaned down and kissed him. He pulled back. "How are you feeling, my darling?"

Sherlock smiled at him, more awake now. "Much better," he said. "Starving."

John smiled back. He handed Sherlock his water and put the food between them. They ate slowly, quietly.

When they'd both finished, John got up and put the food away. The first light of dawn was beginning to show through the window over their heads.

John sat back down on the edge of the bed. Sherlock put his hand on John's right shoulder and began to move behind him. John turned to see what he was doing. "Stay right there," Sherlock whispered.

John faced forward again and held still as Sherlock sat up behind him. He watched Sherlock's legs come down off the bed, one on either side of John. John's heart was already pounding inside his chest. He gasped as Sherlock pressed his body against John's back.

Sherlock's arms wrapped around John, pinning his arms to his sides and pulling him tightly against Sherlock. John's eyes closed. He could feel Sherlock's arousal.

Sherlock's mouth was next to John's left ear. "Have you gotten some of your strength back yet?"

John nodded slightly, already lost.

"Good. So have I." Sherlock kept his left arm around John's chest as he pulled the right one back. He raked his fingers upward through John's hair. John let his head fall forward, sighing. He shuddered as Sherlock's mouth slid wetly over the back of his neck.

Sherlock's hand tightened in John's hair. He pulled John's head back. His breath was hot against the left side of John's neck as he trailed his tongue down it. John was panting, struggling to keep from crying out. Sherlock rolled his hips against John's arse and let out a soft, breathy moan against John's neck. He slid his hand out of John's hair and pushed it down his back, around his waist under his arm, and right down over John's underclothes to rub firmly against his already hard cock.

John arched back against Sherlock, unable to hold back a sharp cry. "Ah!"

Sherlock moved his left arm up from John's chest and put his hand over John's mouth. " _Shhh_ ," he said against John's ear. "I told you last night. I'm the only one that gets to hear those gorgeous sounds." He moved his hand back down over John's chest and held him firmly. His right hand remained on John's cock, but he kept it still. Sherlock pressed another open-mouthed kiss across the back of John's neck before whispering into John's right ear. "Can you be quiet for me, John?" He rolled his hips against John's arse again, huffing a breath against John's neck.

John didn't respond. He took advantage of having his right arm free, lifting it and putting it behind him into Sherlock's hair. He wove his fingers into it and twisted a little, and was rewarded with a gasp from Sherlock.

Sherlock used his left arm to give John a little shake. "You didn't answer me, John," he murmured. "Do you want me to stop?"

John shook his head. "No... d-... _don't stop!_ "

Sherlock's hand remained still. "Then you had better _answer me_." Sherlock's left arm tightened on John's chest. He rolled his hips again. John whimpered and pushed his hips forward, instinctively trying to get some friction from Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock huffed out a breath and gave John another little shake. He pitched his voice lower. " _John_. Can you be quiet for me?"

John let his head fall back onto Sherlock's left shoulder. His voice was broken. "Y-yes."

"Good." Sherlock pulled his left arm back and slid it down to John's waist, under his arm. John shuddered. Sherlock pulled John's shirt up a bit and plunged both hands into John's underclothes.

John choked back a cry. He clapped his left hand over his own mouth. His right hand was still in Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock wrapped his left hand around John's cock and pulled his underclothes down with his right hand. John's body convulsed with pleasure, and he sobbed against his hand.

Sherlock's right hand dragged up John's body and lifted. John arched his back, trying to get Sherlock's hand on his body again. Then he realized Sherlock had taken the hand to his own mouth to lick at it. John sobbed against his own hand again.

Sherlock replaced his left hand on John's cock with his now-wet right hand and began to stroke. John convulsed again, whimpering against his left hand. His right hand tightened in Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock ran his left hand up onto John's chest, holding John tightly against himself again. He rolled his hips, sighing against John's neck. "My God, John, you're so beautiful like this." His voice was quiet in John's ear. "So responsive. You drive me _mad_." He punctuated the last word with a sharp thrust of his hips.

John kept his hand firmly clamped over his own mouth, trembling with the effort of staying quiet.

Sherlock continued, "You're close already, John, I can tell. The way you're thrashing against me. I can feel you trembling. You're incredible." He moved his hips again, shoving his cock against John's arse. "You feel how hard you make me, John?"

John whimpered into his hand.

Sherlock gave him a little shake. "Answer me, John. _Do you feel how hard you make me?_ "

John whimpered again. With great effort, he lifted his head, nodded, and dropped it back down on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Good." Sherlock let out another quiet moan. "You're so gorgeous like this. Someday, when we have enough time and enough privacy, I'm going to keep you like this for _ages_. Until you're _begging_ me to finish you." He stroked John's right nipple with his thumb.

John shuddered, panting around his hand.

"But as for this morning, John, I want to see you spend for me _now_." Sherlock changed his motion suddenly, twisting his hand on the head of John's cock.

The combination of the change in sensation and Sherlock's words in his ear threw John over the edge. He thrashed in Sherlock's arms, keening against his own hand as he spilled over Sherlock's hand.

As the tension left John's body, he slumped back against Sherlock, still panting. He released Sherlock's hair. Sherlock was breathing heavily, his body quivering behind John's.

John grabbed Sherlock's left arm with both of his hands and deliberately slid off the edge of the bed to the floor, turning around as he dropped. He landed on his knees, facing Sherlock. He looked up. Sherlock was wrecked. He'd seemed completely in control as he'd touched John, but now that John had come, he was falling to pieces.

John took hold of Sherlock's knees, then pushed his hands up Sherlock's thighs. He grabbed his hips and gently pulled him forward to the edge of the bed.

Sherlock was panting now, trembling and looking helplessly at John on his knees in front of him. John took a moment to reach for his handkerchief and quickly wipe at Sherlock's hand. He tossed the handkerchief aside and grabbed Sherlock's hips again. Sherlock gasped.

John pushed Sherlock's nightshirt up and his underclothes down, freeing his cock. Sherlock whimpered, his head tipping back.

John didn't tease. He dropped his head and took Sherlock into his mouth right away. Sherlock choked back a cry, shuddering hard. John pushed his right hand past Sherlock's hip and grabbed his arse. He took Sherlock in as far as he could, stroking the underside of his cock with his tongue. Sherlock leaned back onto his right hand, his left hand stroking through John's hair.

John felt Sherlock grow impossibly harder in his mouth. Sherlock was trying to speak. "J-John... I'm..." John squeezed Sherlock's arse and sucked harder. Sherlock's body went completely rigid as he came in John's mouth. He gasped and went silent. He wasn't breathing. John swallowed around him. As his orgasm subsided, Sherlock's body sagged and he began panting again. He continued stroking through John's hair with a trembling hand. " _John_ ," he whimpered.

John released Sherlock and collapsed back onto his heels. He put his left arm around Sherlock's uninjured right leg and rested his head against it. He was still breathing heavily. "Oh, _God_ , Sherlock!"

After a few minutes, John found the strength to stand up and help Sherlock lie back into bed. He couldn't resist crawling in with him. He settled in against Sherlock's shoulder. "You are incredible, my darling." He stroked Sherlock's chest. "Remember how you told me last night I had no idea how much trouble I was in?"

John could hear Sherlock's smile in his voice. "Yes."

"I think I'm starting to get an idea of how much trouble I'm in."

Sherlock chuckled.

"I think you may just kill me," John continued. " _But what a way to go_."

Sherlock laughed quietly and wrapped his arms around John.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock and John laid together while the sun rose. When the light from the window was bright, they reluctantly got up and dressed.

When they were ready to leave, John turned to Sherlock. "I should be able to get everything we need. The innkeeper said most of the merchants speak a little English. Hopefully we'll be able to avoid you having to talk to anyone." He kissed Sherlock gently before opening the door.

The streets of the village were crowded. John made his way through them to find a merchant who could sell him a horse and wagon. Sherlock stayed out of the way as much as possible, keeping his hood up and avoiding eye contact with anyone but John.

Sherlock waited outside the horse seller's barn while John chose their horse. He would have liked to have helped John choose, but he knew it was a risk. And he knew John's knowledge of horses was solid after working with Mike.

John came out of the barn leading a chestnut gelding with a white blaze. Sherlock's heart stopped. He tried to breathe normally while John hitched the horse to a small wagon. John got into the seat and drove toward Sherlock. He stopped next to Sherlock and leaped down. He was smiling until he caught sight of Sherlock's face.

John put both hands on Sherlock's upper arms and looked at him intently. "What is it? What's happened?"

Sherlock tried to smile at John. "Nothing, John. It's nothing."

"Please don't do that. Tell me what's wrong."

Sherlock looked over John's shoulder at the horse. "What's his name?"

John turned and looked back at the horse. He frowned. "Beau." He looked into Sherlock's eyes again, clearly concerned for him.

Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He looks exactly like Apollo."

John's face went white. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know - I can go back, choose a different -"

"No!" Sherlock interrupted. "No, don't go back. Of course you didn't know; I never told you what Apollo looks like." Sherlock stepped forward. John moved out of the way so Sherlock could approach Beau.

Sherlock looked Beau over. "He's a fine horse. Very fine." He stroked Beau's neck.

John still looked concerned. "Are you sure you don't want me to go back?"

Sherlock smiled. A real smile. "I'm sure." He stroked Beau's neck again. "Will you help me into the wagon?"

"Of course."

John helped Sherlock up onto the wagon seat. He drove them through the village, stopping several times to purchase items and put them in the back of the wagon. At last, he said, "I'd like to buy some salted pork before we leave, but I think that's the last thing." He turned and looked at Sherlock. "What do you think? Have I forgotten anything?"

Sherlock smiled at John. "You've done a better job of it than I ever could, John. I'd be lost without you."

John ducked his head, his cheeks going a bit pink. He stopped the wagon outside a merchant's shop. "This one looks like it should have the salted pork. Do you want to stay up here in the seat, or get down?"

"I think I'll get down. If you don't object, I may ride in the back afterward so I can keep my leg up."

"Of course I don't object." John helped Sherlock down. "Do you want to get in the back now?"

"Not yet. I'll wait for you here."

John nodded, then tilted his head toward his left hand. Sherlock looked down and saw John tap his finger. Sherlock's heart swelled. He returned the signal. John grinned brightly at Sherlock and went into the shop.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

The old woman running the shop didn't speak any English, but John was able to point out what he wanted and negotiate a price nevertheless. He picked up the heavy box of salted pork and walked toward the door. Before he reached the door, it burst open and Sherlock came through as fast as he could on the crutches. He pushed right past John. _What in hell?_ Sherlock began shouting at the old woman in French. The old woman screamed back at him.

Sherlock turned around and said to John, "Put the box down."

" _Why? What in hell do you think you're doing?_ "

The old woman had continued screaming at Sherlock. He turned and shouted something else at her. She stopped cold. Then she screamed something that sounded an awful lot like "demon" and began throwing things at Sherlock.

John dropped the box and grabbed Sherlock. Something the old woman had thrown hit him in the back. He dragged Sherlock out the door, even though Sherlock was still yelling in French and was fighting him every step of the way.

" _Quiet!_ " John hissed. "We're getting out of here!"

Sherlock jerked his arm out of John's grasp. "Not until she gives you the gold back!"

John grabbed him again. He locked eyes with Sherlock, absolutely furious with him. " _Fuck the gold_ ," he growled. "We're getting out of here. _Now_."

Sherlock looked stricken. He stopped struggling and let John push him up into the back of the wagon. John drove away quickly.

He kept driving, leaving town and continuing on through the countryside. His blood was boiling. It was past midday before he started looking for a place to stop.

When he came to a small stream, John finally stopped so he could give Beau a drink and a rest. He leapt down and went to the back of the wagon to get his new grooming equipment so he could rub Beau down.

Sherlock was sitting in the back of the wagon with his arms crossed. He glared at John as John reached for his supplies. John paused. He put his hand out to help Sherlock down. Sherlock turned away. John kept his hand out and waited. With a heavy sigh, Sherlock scooted forward and let John help him down. He didn't make eye contact.

John left Sherlock there and unhitched Beau. He rubbed him down, let him have a long drink, and gave him some oats. He put Beau on a picket line and returned to the wagon.

Sherlock was leaning against the back of the wagon. Glowering. John got food and water out for them both. He held Sherlock's plate out to him. Sherlock didn't look at John and kept his arms crossed. John set the plate down on the back of the wagon next to Sherlock and took his own plate around to the front of the wagon. He ate slowly. When he was finished, he went to the back of the wagon.

Sherlock hadn't eaten anything. John put his empty plate next to Sherlock's full one and stood directly in front of Sherlock. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

Sherlock glared at him. "What do you care?"

John didn't say anything. He stood his ground and waited.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "That box of salted pork was no good. And she knew it."

John paused. He'd been able to work that much out himself. "Did she call you a demon?"

Sherlock looked away. He nodded his head.

"Why?"

"It's a common enough response when I reveal someone's secret."

"What did you say to her?"

"That I wouldn't let her take it out on you just because you're a Briton."

John's brow furrowed. "Take what out on me?"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably again. He turned back to John. "The girl her husband left her for. She was a Briton."

John shook his head. Remarkable. But he was still livid. "You put yourself in danger over it. You could have just told me not to keep the pork. You didn't need to charge in and start a screaming match."

"She was cheating and _poisoning_ you!"

" _I don't care!_ You were supposed to keep your head down and avoid anyone noticing you! Your little tantrum could have cost us _everything!_ "

"I don't need you to lecture me! And I didn't need you to drag me out of there like a disobedient child!"

"If you don't want me to treat you like a disobedient child, then _don't act like one!_ "

Sherlock pushed himself forward. "I don't need some villager telling me what to do!"

John's body jerked backward like he'd been struck. His blood ran cold. " _Some villager?_ "

Sherlock's face blanched. "John, _no_ , I didn't..."

"That's what I am to you?" John was walking backward now, shaking his head.

" _No_ , John! You're _everything_ to me! I didn't mean it! I was just angry!" Sherlock looked panicked.

John put his hands up in front of him. He turned around and walked away.

" _John!_ " Sherlock sounded desperate now. "Don't go! I'm sorry!"

John stopped. He didn't turn around. "I need some air." He kept walking.

" _John!_ "


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock was in agony. He watched John walking away at a brisk pace, knowing he had no hope of catching up to him on crutches.

He dropped clumsily down onto the ground, pushing his hands into his hair and fisting them. _No, no, no, no, no._ How could he have said that? How could he be so _stupid?_ He fell onto his side.

The pain in Sherlock's heart was white-hot and searing. He'd known from the start that this was inevitable. But he had dared to hope he'd have more time. Shame coursed through him. He'd been a fool to think he could keep John Watson. For any amount of time. Sherlock pulled his hands down over his face.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard footsteps behind him. His throat hurt. His hands and face were wet.

There was a man standing over him now. He dropped to his knees next to Sherlock. He was saying something.

"Sherlock!" He was touching Sherlock's shoulder, shaking him gently. " _Sherlock!_ "

 _John?_ Sherlock slowly moved his hands away from his face, terrified that it wasn't really John. He looked up.

It was him. _Thank God_. A wave of relief flooded through Sherlock.

" _John?_ " he whispered. "Is it really you?"

John looked terribly worried. "Yes, of course it's me!" He put his hand on Sherlock's cheek.

" _You came back_."


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's POV

John was shocked and horrified. His heart was still pounding in panic after he'd come back around the wagon to find Sherlock crumpled on the ground. He helped Sherlock sit up and wiped the tears off his face with a clean handkerchief. He took Sherlock's face in his hands and looked into his eyes. " _Sherlock_. You thought I wasn't coming back?"

Sherlock looked down at the ground.

" _Dear God_ , Sherlock! How could you think I would leave you?"

Sherlock dropped his head further.

"I told you, Sherlock. I _told_ you. I'm yours as long as you'll have me."

Sherlock looked up at John again.

"I love you, Sherlock. Haven't I told you that? Haven't I _shown_ you that?"

Sherlock nodded slowly.

"Then why can't you believe me?" He took Sherlock into his arms.

Sherlock melted against John. "I'm starting to," he whispered.

John stroked Sherlock's hair. "Good."

They held each other for a long time. Then John pulled back. "Come, my love. We can't spend the whole afternoon on the ground." He got up and helped Sherlock stand. The he helped Sherlock up into the back of the wagon. He got in as well, and both of them sat against the hay John had bought for Beau.

John took Sherlock's hand in his. "I'm never going to leave you, Sweetheart. But that doesn't mean I'll never get angry. I needed to clear my head. That's all."

Sherlock nodded his head and let it fall against John's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for what I said, John. I didn't mean it."

"I know, my love. I'm sorry, too."

They sat quietly together for a long time.

John kissed Sherlock gently before getting down from the wagon. "Let's get some more miles behind us before nightfall."

He hitched Beau up again. They drove until dusk began to fall and stopped in a little grove of trees in an isolated area.

John took care of Beau and put him back on his picket line. He went to the wagon to get supper ready. He noticed Sherlock quietly slipping away on his crutches while he was busy, but didn't give it much thought. When John finished preparing their food, he looked up, wondering where Sherlock had gone.

John walked around to the front of the wagon and caught sight of Sherlock. He was standing next to Beau, stroking his neck and talking to him quietly.  

John's heart leapt at the sight. He'd been feeling guilty, afraid he had aggravated Sherlock's grief over leaving Apollo behind when he chose Beau.

He walked over to Sherlock. "I think he likes you, Sweetheart."

"I hope so, John. He's really quite lovely." Sherlock turned toward John.  The light of the fading sunset behind John shone warmly on Sherlock's face. John's breath caught at the sight. 

Sherlock reached out and put his hand on John's face. "Are you all right?"

John nodded slowly. "Just a bit overwhelmed by your beauty, my love."

" _John_..." Sherlock's thumb stroked John's cheekbone.

John reached up and took Sherlock's hand in his. "Come back to the wagon, gorgeous. I've got supper ready."

They walked back slowly, and sat in the back of the wagon against the hay. John made sure Sherlock ate this time. "Where shall we go, dear heart?"

Sherlock smiled. "Wherever you like. All I care about is you."

John smiled back. "I don't know where we're going. But I think we'll know when we get there." He leaned over and kissed Sherlock. "And I think you'd better start teaching me to speak French."

Sherlock nodded. He stroked John's hair.

They laid down in the back of the wagon to sleep. John had bought blankets to make it more comfortable for them. Sherlock pulled John close, wrapping his arms around him. John nuzzled his head into Sherlock's shoulder and pulled the blankets securely over them both. "We'll be home soon, my darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the final one. (Expect a long, porny epilogue.) Thank you for reading. Positive and/or constructive comments are appreciated!


	27. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV

Sherlock leapt down from the second level of the storage shelves. As he straightened up, he smiled. "After all this time, you still think you can sneak up on me."

John's voice came from the other side of the row behind Sherlock. "I _will_ do it. Someday."

Sherlock held still. He could hear John moving behind him.

"I came down here to tell you that Widow Hudson wants us to come to the main house for dinner tonight. And she wants you to play your vielle for her."

"I'm happy to play for her tonight." Sherlock still didn't move. "But that's not why you came down to the cellar."

"No?"

"No."

John was only inches behind him now. "Perhaps not."

Sherlock could feel John's breath on the back of his neck. A shiver ran up his spine.

"How's the mead coming along?"

Sherlock still didn't turn around. "This batch should be ready for bottling sometime next week."

"Good. And your hives? How were your bees this morning?"

"Fine." Sherlock grinned.

"How is Beau doing?"

Sherlock resisted the urge to turn around and face John. "He's very well. And I trust your work on the vines this morning went as planned. But you didn't come down to the cellar this afternoon to ask about the mead. Or the hives. Or Beau."

John trailed a finger down the back of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock shuddered. He lowered his voice. " _Show me why you're here, John_."

John put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. He dragged all ten fingertips down Sherlock's back, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake.

Sherlock closed his eyes. His heart was already pounding in anticipation.

John's hands slid around Sherlock's waist, under his shirt, and up his chest. Sherlock gasped at John's touch on his bare skin. He couldn't help arching his back slightly as he felt the heat of John's mouth between his shoulder blades.

John pulled away, leaving Sherlock aching. "Take your shirt off," he commanded.

Sherlock opened his eyes and followed John's direction. Slowly. He deliberately exaggerated his movements, quite aware of how the sight of the muscles in his back and arms contracting would affect John.

Suddenly, John had a handful of Sherlock's hair. " _Did I tell you to tease me, Sherlock?_ " he hissed.

Sherlock's shirt fell from his hands. Sherlock let John pull his head back, moaning at the pull on his scalp. "It's not a tease if I follow through, John."

"Back against the pillar. _Now_." John released his hair and gave him a little shove toward the shelves.

Sherlock removed the smile from his face as he turned around. John's face was stern. Sherlock suppressed another grin and moved backward to lean against the closest of the pillars holding the storage shelves up.

"Arms out. Hold on to the shelves."

Sherlock stretched his arms out and gripped the shelving just below shoulder level behind him.

"Close your eyes. And _don't move_."

Sherlock closed his eyes. He waited. He heard John move forward. He could feel John's presence. John's gaze. John's _body heat_. It took every bit of self control Sherlock had not to squirm or open his eyes. Minutes passed. Sherlock knew what John was waiting for. He was waiting for Sherlock to yield. So, finally, Sherlock began to relax. He deepened and slowed his breathing. His muscles gradually loosened and he slumped slightly against the pillar.

John's voice was quiet. And close. "That's good, darling. Very good."

Johns fingers brushed against the sides of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock reacted with a jerk and a quick intake of breath.

"Easy, now," John whispered. "Easy, my love." His fingers stroked Sherlock's collarbone.

Sherlock took a calming breath and relaxed into John's touch.

"Good." John's fingers continued across Sherlock's collarbone and onto his upper arms. They traced back onto his shoulders and down his chest. Sherlock could feel John's breath against the left side of his neck. He was trembling with desire, but he waited.

John's hands made their way to Sherlock's waist and grasped it. All at once, John's body was pressing in against Sherlock's, his leg was pushing between Sherlock's knees, and his mouth was on Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock cried out, shuddering under the sudden onslaught of sensation. John growled in response, shoving his body against Sherlock's even more firmly. Sherlock's hands clutched the shelves tightly as he fought the urge to grab at John. John was hard against Sherlock's leg, his arousal driving Sherlock's even higher.

John lifted one of his hands up from Sherlock's waist and grabbed a handful of his hair. He claimed Sherlock's mouth in a heated kiss. He rolled his hips against Sherlock, moaning against his mouth. The kiss became a bit messy as both of them gasped for breath.

John pulled his mouth and body away, causing Sherlock to whimper at the loss. John's hand tightened in Sherlock's hair. "Open your eyes, Sherlock."

Sherlock obeyed. He stared forward, so lost he wasn't focusing.

"Look at me," John commanded.

With great effort, Sherlock lowered his chin and focused on John's deep blue eyes.

"Don't take your eyes off me."

Sherlock nodded slightly in response. John released Sherlock's hair and slid down onto his knees, still looking intently into Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock moaned at the sight of John kneeling in front of him. John untied Sherlock's breeches and pulled them open, shoving his underclothes down and grasping his aching cock.

Sherlock cried out, his chest heaving. His arms strained with the effort of resisting his need to touch John, pulling at the shelves. He kept watching John.

John smiled as he looked up at Sherlock. "Good, Sweetheart. You're doing so well." He was untying his own breeches with his other hand to relieve the pressure on his erection. When he'd finished, he sighed a little in relief. He pushed his hand up Sherlock's thigh and around to clutch at his arse. Sherlock made a keening noise, but didn't let go of the shelves or break eye contact.

"You're so good for me. And so beautiful." John stroked Sherlock once before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against Sherlock's aching cock.

Sherlock convulsed in pleasure, his arms tugging at the shelves. He cried out. "John!"

John took him into his mouth. Sherlock was overwhelmed. He writhed against the pillar, crying out wordlessly. After only a few minutes, Sherlock was on the verge of coming. He whimpered helplessly, trying to warn John. "J-John... oh, God... close, John!" He barely got the words out before he was coming hard in John's mouth. John swallowed around him, not letting go until Sherlock sagged against the pillar, panting.

After releasing Sherlock, John stayed on his knees, looking up at him with fire in his eyes. Sherlock, still watching John as he'd been commanded, let out another whimper.

John tucked Sherlock back into his underclothes, but left his breeches untied since he was still mostly hard. He got to his feet, his eyes still locked on Sherlock's. He pushed Sherlock's hair off his forehead and kissed him softly. "You've been so good for me, my darling. When I say, you can let go of the shelves and do whatever you want with me. Would you like that, my love?"

"Yes, John."

"Are you ready? Do you know what you want to do?"

Sherlock smiled wickedly. "Yes, John." _Oh, John, I know_ exactly _what I'm going to do to you_.

Sherlock could see John trembling with arousal. "Now, Sherlock."

Sherlock launched himself against John, finally ( _finally_ ) wrapping his arms around him. He captured John's mouth in a searing kiss as he moved his hands over John's body, settling one in John's hair and the other on his arse. He shoved John backward, crowding him against the opposite pillar.

John was moaning against Sherlock's mouth and clutching desperately at his upper arms. Sherlock bent his knees to line his hips up with John's and shoved his body forward, grinding against John.

Without warning, Sherlock let go of John, tilted his upper body back, and threw his arms upward between John's body and his, breaking the hold John had on his upper arms. John gasped as Sherlock grabbed both of his wrists and pushed them roughly up over his head. It was a perfectly calculated move. Sherlock had yanked the right wrist up and slammed it against the pillar, but lifted the left with much less force, taking care not to aggravate John's damaged shoulder.

Keeping John's wrists pinned over his head, Sherlock reclaimed John's mouth and continued thrusting his hips against John's.

John was rock hard. He arched his body against Sherlock's, keening desperately against Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock tucked John's left wrist between John's own right wrist and Sherlock's left hand. He then dragged his right hand down John's arm, continuing down his chest and stomach before plunging his hand into John's underclothes. He took hold of John, dragging his thumb through the precome on the head of John's cock.

John's whole body shuddered. He cried out loudly, breaking their kiss. John gasped for breath as Sherlock attacked his neck, licking and biting at it. He was utterly lost, thrashing against Sherlock's body as Sherlock stroked him firmly.

Sherlock suddenly released John's wrists and dropped to his knees. John groaned loudly. His right hand grabbed at the shelves as his left dropped onto Sherlock's head. His fingers immediately tangled in Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock pulled John's underclothes down and took John's cock into his mouth. John cried out, "Oh! Oh, _God_... _Sherlock!_ " His hips twitched forward. "Sherlock, I'm - _oh_..." His fingers tightened in Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock let out a low moan as John pulled at his hair and thrust his cock shallowly into his mouth. John's body arched as he threw his head back, clutching at Sherlock's hair and coming into his mouth. He was moaning brokenly between gasps. Sherlock swallowed around John before dropping back onto his heels.

John sagged forward, releasing Sherlock's hair. He let go of the shelf and slid down the pillar, dropping onto his knees on the cellar floor with Sherlock. He was still visibly quivering. He took Sherlock's face in both of his hands. He kissed Sherlock tenderly, then rested his forehead against Sherlock's as they both tried to catch their breath. "My God, Sherlock," he whispered. "You're a wonder."

"You're not so bad yourself," Sherlock whispered back. He stroked John's hair. "Let's get off the floor. We should have time to lie down and recover for a while before dinner."

"You might have to carry me." John giggled quietly.

Sherlock shook his head as he stood up unsteadily, tied his breeches, and found his shirt. "I'm going to choose a bottle of wine for tonight."

John tipped his head back to look up at him. "From our personal supply, right? Widow Hudson will have our heads if we raid her sales stock."

"Oh my God, John, that was _one time!_ Will the two of you _ever_ let that go?"

John put his hands up in surrender and grinned. "All right, my love, I'll never mention it again."

Sherlock ducked around the shelves and found one of his and John's personal bottles. When he came back, he found John still resting on the floor, slumped against the pillar. He'd managed to do his breeches back up, at least.

"Come on, John, up to bed with you," he said as he pulled John up by the right arm. John stumbled to his feet, swaying a bit. Sherlock locked their arms together at the elbows and led John up out of the cellar. They made their way unsteadily to the house they'd built together at the back of Widow Hudson's vineyard.

As soon as Sherlock bolted the door, they both shed their boots and clothes. Sherlock glanced at their mantel and smiled when he saw that John had put two sprigs of fresh lavender in his mother's vase. John's bed was closest to the door, so they collapsed into it clad only in their underclothes, tangling their limbs together. Sherlock sighed contentedly. Then he giggled quietly.

"What's funny?" John asked.

"Nothing. It just never fails."

John's brow furrowed. "What never fails?"

Sherlock's smile widened. "Playing my vielle. Even the anticipation of it is enough to get me mauled."

John sat up a little, propping his head on his hand. "Mauled?"

"By you."

John grinned at Sherlock. "You complaining?"

"Oh, not a bit. It's one of the things I love best about you." Sherlock looked up at the roof. "I noticed the pattern ages ago, of course, but I've never quite been sure why you're so... affected by it."

John laid back into the bed, still tangled up with Sherlock. He lifted a hand and pushed Sherlock's hair off his forehead. "Do you remember the first time I heard you play?"

"The inn just outside Rouen."

"Yes. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard. Ever seen. You were like an angel. It was almost too much, actually. My heart could barely take it." John stroked Sherlock's hair. "I could actually _feel_ myself falling more deeply in love with you. And I didn't know it was possible to love someone more than I already loved you. I'm surprised I didn't fall over."

Sherlock snickered a little and burrowed his head in against John's neck. He wrapped his arms more securely around John. "I remember. I remember how you looked at me. And I remember the mauling I got from you later that night."

John laughed quietly. "I remember that, too, darling." 

They were quiet for a moment.

John continued stroking Sherlock's hair, twisting his fingers gently through the curls. "You know, I can see you training Beau when I'm tending to the vines on the hillside."

Sherlock grinned against John's neck. "Yes, I know."

"The two of you are so graceful together. It's absolutely gorgeous. I can barely take my eyes off you to work."

Sherlock squeezed John a bit tighter. Then, suddenly, he let John loose and bolted upright. "Oh!"

John sounded mildly concerned. "What is it?"

Sherlock looked down at John. "I just figured it out!" He leaned closer. " _Angel_."

John grinned at him wickedly.

Sherlock stretched his body over John's, holding himself up on his arms, one on either side of John's head. "You said I'm like an angel when I play. You want to _debauch the angel_." Sherlock lowered himself even closer to John. " _You gloriously depraved man_."

And with that, Sherlock lowered himself all the way down onto John, reclaiming his mouth in a heated kiss. When Sherlock broke the kiss, he moved his weight to John's side and buried his face in John's neck again. "I love you, my John."

"I love you, too, my angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. (A huge thank you to subscribers!) Positive and/or constructive comments are welcome and appreciated! ❤️


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